Quiet Like The Snow
by Victorian Asylum
Summary: It started with letters. Then came stalking. A morbid fascination turned into a kidnapping. A serial killer is lusting after Max. Will this time be different, or will she be just another dismembered body dumped in a ditch?
1. Chapter 1

**Note: Max and her mother are not living in Arizona (Or wherever Dr. M lives, someplace warm is all I remember.) Let's just say they're living in... Illinois. There. Also, if you can't tell by the summary this is an Alternate Universe fanfiction.**

**XXX**

A series of insistent beeping permeated my mind, dragging me from my luxurious sleep. I rolled over groggily and slammed my hand down where I thought my alarm was. I missed. "Son of a-!" After a few more tries, my fingers finally found the snooze button. I pushed it happily and pulled the covers over my head, attempting to get a few more minutes of sleep.

I turned, trying to get comfortable again. But just as I was about to return to the glorious land of slumber, a thought crossed my mind. I shot up. "Dammit, I'm going to be late again!" I kicked the covers off me and all but fell off my bed.

I stumbled the the drawer and pulled out a simple outfit. I slipped on the shirt, and as I was putting on the jeans I hopped over to the small table, balancing precariously on one leg. I ran a brush trough my hair and didn't even bother to braid it.

"Max!" My mother called. "Are you even up?"

"I'm up, I'm up!" I yelled, throwing open the door and speeding down the hallway. I took as big of a leap I could muster down the stairs, making it about halfway before my foot caught. I somersaulted the rest of the way down, landing on my back at the bottom.

My mother was already in the kitchen, sitting at the table with her legs crossed, a cup of coffee in one hand, the newspaper in the other. She looked up as I crashed to the ground, an amused expression on her face.

Grumbling under my breath I got up and snatched my backpack from where it lay beside the staircase. My stomach growled and I frowned, knowing there was no time to eat. Casually my mother tossed me a pack of poptarts, which was quickly becoming my breakfast these days due to the fact I was constantly late.

"Thanks!" I said, slipping into flip flops, those being the quickest to put on, and was out the door in a flash. Instantly I was met with a freezing cold as my nearly bare feet sunk into several inches of snow and a gust of wind ran over my bare arms.

How could I forget it was winter? I shook my head. There was no time. And I didn't feel like being any later than I already was. Determination flooded my veins and I took off running down the sidewalk, flurries of snow kicking up every time I raised my foot.

I hated missing the bus. I hated missing the bus even more during winter. I hated being late. I hated school. I hated wearing flip flops and a short sleeved shirt in the snow. A very long list of things I hated ran through my head as I sprinted.

I passed by many people brushing snow off their cars, seeming to mock me with their large fluffy coats and big, warm looking gloves. Many stares followed in my wake. Not, "What the hell?" stares. No, everyone here knew me by now. This had become a weekly, sometimes even daily thing.

School came into view, looming, daunting even. Three stories, dark brown brick walls that were littered with cracks and lined with graffiti. Dark window panes, some also cracked, some even broken and awaiting the day they'll get fixed.

I plowed on down the sidewalk and onto school grounds, speeding up the steps and slamming open the doors. As the cloud of snow I brought with me settled lightly on the ground and the doors creaked shut, and leaned over, hands on my knees and sucked in lungfuls of air. Once I had regained most of my breath, I stood upright.

The inside of the school was about as creepy as the outside. Half the lights, long and rectangular didn't work, or had burned out, so the hallway was dim, like something out of a horror film. Having the lockers painted black didn't help at all.

I'm glad I preset the first two numbers in my lock, so all I had to do was turn to the last number and I was in. I shoved the needed book for my first three periods into my backpack and shut my locker. As if to add insult to injury I had to trudge up to the third floor.

My feet felt numb and I hoped I didn't get frostbite. I stopped in front of the classroom door, took a deep breath and pushed it open. The class didn't even look up, but simply continued scribbling on their sheets of paper.

The teachers eyes didn't even leave his desk, or the papers he was looking through. He jerked a thumb behind him at the board, which had various mathematical equations on it. "Page 367, all of it. Ask a friend for explanation if you can't get it. Hand me yesterday's assignment."

I fumbled through my bag and took out my math book, flipping through the paper filled pages before producing what he need. I handed it to him and returned my math book to my bag. I slung it back over my shoulder and turned around.

The teacher didn't need to tell me what to do next, I already knew. Back to the Principal's office once more. I took my time going down the stairs, in no real rush to be yelled at about being tardy. But even time couldn't stop the inevitable. Or maybe it didn't want to.

I walked in to main office, where I was greeted by silence. By now I had gotten the drill down. I slumped into a nearby chair and dropped my backpack next to me. A few minutes later, a young woman walked into the room and took a seat at the desk near the door.

"Goodmorning, Max." She said politely, her fingers moving swiftly over the computer's keyboard. I gave a halfhearted wave and let my hand fall with a light smack against my thigh. My fingers drummed lightly as I waited.

Still, I was not called in. Scowling, I pawed through my bag, looking for something, anything, to pass the time. My eyes fell on a small white envelope that I hadn't seen before. Curious, I picked it. A sticky note was on the outside, and in my mother's handwriting it said, "I found this in the mailbox addressed to you. I don't know what it says or who its from."

I raised an eyebrow and ran my thumb underneath and white triangle sealing the letter shut. Once open, I pulled out a sheet of yellowed paper, slightly burned around the edge. Small specks of red littered the page. Blood?

Inside was a hastily written message. Or maybe it took a while, I'm still not sure. It was hard to read, nearly illegible. Whoever wrote it had some of the worst handwriting I've ever seen. My eyes scanned the page, soaking up the message. It read:

_Dear Max,_

_Glad to see you finally are reading this. The damn postal service would take too long, and I don't trust them, so I hand delivered this to your house. Which is very nice. A place I'd like to live in. But that's not the point of this. I've seen you around a lot and have taken and interest in you. You're very beautiful, and I would like to get to know you better. I want to know everything about you, and I intend to get what I want. One way or another. I can't tell you who I am, or my life will be threatened. Do you want to meet me, though? Circle yes or no at the bottom of this letter. Once you've answered, put this back in your mail box. But I'll warn you, it would be wise to circle yes._

_So... Yes or no?_

_Signed,_

_Yet Unknown_

I blinked a few times, processing the message. What the hell? I shook my head. It was probably someones sick idea of a joke. But... what if it wasn't? It's not like everyone knew where I lived. Only my small group of friends. No. Someone must have found out, probably from the school directory or something along those lines.

"Max. You may go see Mr. Saunters now."

I nodded and stood up, pulling my backpack along with me and walked into the Principal's office. He sat at his desk, hands folded neatly, waiting for me. He raised an eyebrow as I entered, then his eyes traveled to the letter.

He adjusted his glassed and frowned, looking puzzled. "Just what is that, Miss Ride?"

I glanced at the letter in my hand once more, the words jumping at me like lions. I looked at the Yes and No, staring up at me expectantly. Then I crumpled it in my hand and shoved it in my bag. "Nothing, sir."

**XXX**

**Author's Notes: **Yes, another fanfiction. I will still be working on Baby Steps, for those of you wondering. This will be something I'll work on alongside Baby Steps, something that will occupy my time when no ideas remain. So, yes, the characters may be out of character in here, but hey, it's an alternate universe. This is most likely going to be a short fanfic. Not quite sure how short yet. Guess we'll just have to wait for my brain to map that out.


	2. Chapter 2

A scream rang out, loud and piercing. I watched, frozen in something a mix between horror and morbid fascination as the young women made a futile attempt to run, only to trip. She scrambled backwards, trying to get away. But the man was faster.

The next moment, before another scream could surface, the knife forcefully found its way into her heart. And neck. And stomach. And pretty much every other part of her body until she was nothing but an unrecognizable pulp of tissue.

I cringed and shut the movie off, unable to take any more. It was stupid, plot less and cliche in every way, but it was like a train wreck. I couldn't pry my eyes away from it. Until now, of course. As the local new replaced the bloody screen I glanced behind me.

Blame it my paranoia, but I felt the eerie feeling of being watched. That prickly feeling on the back of your neck. I shook my head, amazed at my own stupidity. It was two in the morning. No sane person, or even an insane one, would go out in this weather.

The wind whistled just outside the walls as it twirled snow around, flinging it in every direction. We'd already had an ice storm the other day, so it was impossible to go out without slipping. The only bonus was that school had been canceled that day, so it was a three day weekend for all students.

And what better way to spend those days going through the mound of horror films my friend Iggy had 'generously' given me. It's safe to say he's pretty sick in the head. I'm almost positive he's going to end up a serial killer.

But before I could wonder just what he'd do to his possible victims, the phone rang. I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound. It took me a moment to calm my rapidly beating heart. Slowly, I slid out from under my warm blanket and walked over to the family phone.

"Hello?" I tried cautiously.

"Oh, Max, perfect!"

I breathed a sigh of relief. Just Iggy. I still don't understand why I thought it might be someone else, or why it freaked me out so much. "What do you want?" I asked, irritation seeping through the fear.

"Only two things really. First, how are you enjoying the movies? Aren't they gory perfection?" I could almost hear the smile in his voice. He was like a kid in a candy shop. Few things he could ramble on and on about. Gore was definitely one of them.

I rolled my eyes, even thought he couldn't see. "I'm scarred for life Iggy."

Iggy laughed a maniacal kind of laugh. He truly sounded insane. "Perfect. Now finish 'em up and we can discuss every last detail. And I'm serious. I don't care if you have to pull all-nighters, you must finish them!"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. This conversation was going nowhere fast. "Okay, now you're kind of pissing me off. I don't even know why I'm watching those movies, but that's not the point. Was there anything else you wanted to tell me?"

"Oh, yeah!" Iggy stopped a moment, his voice growing serious. "I was passing by on my way to the kitchen and something caught my eye." Another pause. I frowned, wondering what he could have seen in this blizzard. "There was a guy hanging around outside your house. He was peering through the window."

For the second time in only a matter of minutes, I froze. Cold fear spread throughout my body, and the season wasn't to blame. Or my frozen feet. The phone slid from my grasp and clattered to the ground. The noise echoed dully in the silence.

My eyes traveled to my right, where I could just barely see the large, open window that gave sight into my living room. A thin white cloth covered it, but if you looked through it at a close enough distance you could see through it.

I couldn't see anyone through my peripheral vision, but that did nothing to ease my fears. I didn't dare turn and hadn't even moved from my spot. Iggy's voice rang out from the phone. "Hello!" He yelled. "Max, are you still there!"

Afraid his voice might be heard by the man outside, or alert him that I was still here, I snatched the phone. "Iggy, shhh!" I growled, my voice a harsh whisper.

"Phew," He said, voice flooding with relief. "I thought maybe something had happened to you."

I made a dash for the kitchen, trying to keep my footsteps quite and failing miserably. I ducked behind the island, like a child playing hide and seek. But all I really cared about was making sure I was not visible.

"Iggy?" I asked after a moment.

"Yeah?"

I crouched down, my back leaning heavily against the cool wood. "Is he still there? Can you check?"

"Yeah, sure." Iggy said. The line fell silent once more as he shifted and most likely stood up, making his way to the front window. He lived in the house right across from me and at the moment I was more thankful than I'll ever be that he did.

"He right outside the door," Iggy breathed, a note of concern finally entering his voice.

My breath hitched and I waited for the man to try to break down the door, or something of the sort.

"He's not doing much... I think he might be putting something through the mail slot..."

And a second later the metal slot creaked open and something slipped through, falling lightly to the floor. I frowned as Iggy reported that the man was walking away. He also gave a laugh as he said that the man slipped on some ice.

But I wasn't focusing on that. Curiosity overload any other emotion as I crawled across the floor and made my way towards the door. Sure enough, a small white envelope, splattered with water droplets, was lying on the ground, staring up at me, waiting.

"Oh," I said simply, picking it up and studying it. "It's another letter."

"A letter?" Iggy asked, sounding disappointed. "That's it?"

"Uh huh," I answered absentmindedly as I opened it up, taking out the small piece of parchment and examining the terrible, scribbled handwriting. "I'll call you back," I said and before he could protest I hung up and set the phone down.

This creep again, huh? I thought, my eyebrows slanting downward, jaw tightening. So I guess he was crazy enough to brave this weather, and at this time of night. My stomach sank as I realized there was no way this was someone from school.

Gripping the paper tightly, I read what was written, all the while my heart speeding up.

_ Dear Max,_

_ I'm hurt you know? Not only did you not answer, you crumpled it up like it was nothing and tossed it. Do you not care, or am I mistaken? Are you not a curious girl? Because I have many wonders I could show you, thins that would blow your mind. The odd thing is, you're quit different and I can't figure out why. My first victim said no. Not only that, but when she left out the letter for me to see, she had written, "No way in hell, freak." It doesn't feel good, being called that. I've been teased nearly my entire life. It had only taken a turn for the better when I decided to do something about it. You know what I did to my tormentors? I strangled the first one. I pushed another who couldn't swim off the dock when no one was around and left him to drown. The third one got it off worse. I cut off her arms and legs and laughed as she pitifully tired to crawl away. She simply bled to death! Oh but I'm off topic aren't I? Yes, I really wanted to tell you about the girl who said no. I'll tell you something. I hate being told no. So you know what I did? While she was out on a jog through the woods, I slammed a rock against her head and knocked her out. Then I dragged her farther into the woods, where no one would hear her or see and waited until she woke up. When she did, I stabbed her through the eye and told her she shouldn't have said no. She screamed and sobbed and begged for mercy. It was stupid really. So I told her to shut up and she complied. And that's when I lopped off her head with the hatchet I had attached to my belt. It was messy, and took a few whacks, but it came off none the less. Taped to the back of this letter are a few pictures I took with my old Polaroid, just in case you don't believe me. It's an old camera, but I make good use of it. Mainly taking pictures of my victims so I can look back on the memory in a few days. Anyway, I want to tell you one simple thing. Speak of this to anyone, show it to anyone, or even have it accidentally discovered, and I will rip out your insides and feed them to the crows. Because I know where you live, and I could get you out of that house before your mom could even be down the stairs._

_ Sweet Dreams,_

_ Yet Unknown._

I glanced at my now shaking hands, then back at the letter, my blood like a slushy in my veins. I wasn't just dealing with someone who was sick in the head. This guy was willing to kill. No, not willing, he did it with joy.

Slowly, I turned over the paper. I instantly regretted it. I felt sick to my stomach as a picture of the man's hand holding up the severed head by it's hair, and then a picture of the headless body danced across my vision.

I slammed the paper down, one hand over my mouth. I shut my eyes tight and tried to block out the images, to no avail. My whole body was racked with shivers and I moved my hands over the back on my head.

I couldn't show anyone. I had no idea when or where this guy could strike, and I didn't want my innards to be scattered to the wind. But if I couldn't tell anyone, or say no without being murdered, then what could I do?

"What the fuck can I do?"

**XXX**

**Author's Notes: **Late update, sorry. Main reason was the Anime Convention I went to a few days ago. Anyway, I'm glad I finally got this done. It's not like it's terribly hard to write these. In fact, I barely notice how far I've gone until it wraps up around page 3, nearly four on Open Office. Never the less, it feels wonderful to write a horror story, even though I have to keep it teen. Oh well, there's plenty of other opportunities to come. Please enjoy the second chapter and thank you to those who comment.


	3. Chapter 3

For those of you who have ever been in a situation where it's almost painful to keep your eyes open for a second more, but you're too scared to fall asleep, I can relate. Sure, it helped a little that my bedroom was on the second floor.

However, the images of the poor decapitated girl were burned into my mind. Etched into my eyelids and every time I closed my eyes I could see it. Now, I'm not one of those people who gets nightmares easily.

At least, not with what I've seen in my life. And on the rare occasions that I do have them, I don't wake up screaming from them. But I was positive if I slept, I would be trapped in a world unlike anything my mind has ever conjured before.

So I spent the long, lonely night curled up under the covers, staring at the ceiling. I never realized how... boring the night can be. It happens in the snap of a finger when you sleep. I didn't even bother to find something to occupy my time.

I have never felt so re leaved to see the sunlight shine through my window in my life. When I heard the sounds of my mom shuffling down the stairs like the early bird she was, that's when I knew that my new found hell was over. For the moment.

I fought off sleep for this long, but could I survive the whole day? I shook my head and swung my feet over the edge of my bed, shivering slightly as they met the cold wood. As I made my way downstairs, I saw my mom already at the table, a cup of coffee in her hand.

Coffee! I quickly made my way over to took a mug from the cabinet above me, pouring a generous amount of the delicious smelling brown liquid in. For a moment I thanked God that the fact I'm gulping down coffee wasn't something new. I didn't want to even bother with explanations.

"Well, aren't you up early." My mother said, glancing up from the paper. Obviously the blizzard has stopped, otherwise she wouldn't have ventured out to get the news.

I shrugged. "I couldn't sleep." I answered simply, taking a sip of coffee. We sat in silence for the rest of breakfast. I finished my drink and placed the mug in the sink. I made my way to the stairs and to my room.

I shut the door behind me and leaned against it. "What exactly am I supposed to do with the letter?" I asked the air.

That very parchment in question sat folded on my desk. Honestly, I didn't know what to do with it. I didn't know if it could throw it away without consequences. It probably wasn't the best thing to leave it out in the open either. Otherwise someone could find out, and screw up everything. They could get killed... Wait. Iggy saw the man, he knows! My eyes widened at the realization. But, did the man know Iggy had seen him? What if Iggy makes things even worse?

My gaze flew from the letter to my clock. It was only 8:54. There was no way he'd be up. I sighed and decided it was worth a shot. I made my way over to my bed, fishing my phone out from underneath the mass of pillows that currently occupied the top half of it.

I waited as it rang, and rang, and rang. Drumming my fingers on my thigh a moment, I walked over to my desk and picked up the letter, opening a drawer and shoving it in. Iggy's voice nearly made me jump. I wasn't expecting it.

"Hello?" He mumbled through a yawn. "Max?"

"Iggy? You're actually up this early?"

Another yawn, louder this time came before his answer. "Dentist appointment."

"Oh," I said simply and fell silent. I savaged my lower lip as I thought. Do I tell him and risk his life, or hope he forgets what he saw and drops the matter? I'll probably pay for this later but... "Hey, Iggy?"

"Yeah?"

"After you're appointment I want to come over and talk about the man I saw."

I could hear the shock in his voice, as if he had forgotten about the man. "O-okay. But shouldn't we call the po-"

I quickly canceled the call and tossed my phone onto the bed.

**1 Hour Later ~**

"So this guy is sending you letters?" Iggy said, his eyes wider than they have ever been in his life. As far as I've seen, that is.

I nodded, my thumb pressing lightly against the fingers of my left hand, though they had long since cracked. I had decided to tell Iggy everything, because there was no way I could get through this alone.

Maybe I chose him because he lived next to me, or maybe because he was the same age as me, whereas my other three friends were spread out through 9th and 10th grade. Whatever the reason, I trusted this to Iggy and made him swear not to tell a soul.

"It's too intricate to be a prank, and to real not to take it seriously." I said, raising my eyes helplessly to him. His brow was furrowed in deep thought, his index fingers tapping in unison, a habit of his.

"I didn't get a good look at him." Iggy sighed angrily and leaned back in his chair. "But why you? Do you even know anyone psychotic enough to stalk you?"

"You think I hang out with freaks?" I snapped.

Iggy held up his hands a moment before letting them drop into his lap. I shook my head, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand. I won't be able to hold out much longer. Sleep is waiting like a prowling tiger, waiting to pounce.

Iggy sensed this immediately and stood up, making his way to the door. Quietly, he held it open for me. "Get some sleep, Max." He murmured, as if he was still lost in thought. "It won't do you any good to fall asleep in class. Then they'll know something is up."

"But I can't!" I growled. "Don't you get it. Every time I close my eyes, even ti blink, I see that poor innocent girl."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "I'm not a psychiatrist. It was your idea not to report this. Whatever happens, just remember it's on your shoulders."

**X X X**

**Author's Notes: **Well would you look at that. I finally updated it. No excuses for the long delay. And not really much to say about this chapter either. So... enjoy.


	4. Chapter 4

In a lot of ways I am a normal High School student. One of those ways being I share a love-hate relationship with school. But by the time Monday rolled around, the love side was shining through. Even the familiar feeling of yet another week of having things constantly crammed down my throat seemed nonexistent.

For once I wasn't late to school, much to the shock of everyone else. I woke up early, due to little sleep, and walked with Iggy, who was surprisingly good about being on time. But he and I both know the only reason I really walked with him (not that there's anything wrong with him) is because I half expected a hand to shoot out from every snow laden bush and give me a rag full of chloroform.

My stalker gave me another letter today, and a near heart attack at the thought that he was creeping around my house again. I was tempted to open it in class, and look around to see who looked guilty as I did so. But the rational part of me knew that would only get me deeper into this mess, and that this wasn't some sick joke.

"Pay attention!" Iggy whispered, giving me a sharp jab in the ribs. I blinked, suddenly slammed back into reality and looked at him. He pointed at the teacher and shook his head. "Don't act any more suspicious unless you want to spill your guts."

I took his advice, or rather tried to, but my eyes constantly fell on my backpack, my hands inching toward the pocket where the letter was. Call it morbid curiosity, I was dying to know what he had put in it this time. Even though I knew it would screw up my mind even more.

Suddenly a pencil flew across the room, pegging me right in the forehead. "What the hell?" I cried, rubbing the spot where I'd been hit. It didn't hurt, it was simply instinct to cover the 'wound'.

My teacher glare at me, his eyes narrow slits. "Is there something in your bag you would like to share, Miss Ride?"

I stiffened, my blood running cold. Would he make me take out the letter? "No sir," I said, feigning innocence.

He gave me one last piercing look before he went back to his ramblings on whatever it was he was teaching. I nearly cheered when the bell rang and sped out of the class and down to my locker. As I was taking my books out, I grabbed the letter and stuck it in the back pocket of my jeans.

"Way to lay low," Iggy's voice sounded from behind me. I turned and found him smiling slightly, as if he thought it was funny.

I gave him a shove, which barely even disturbed his balance. "I'll meet you and everyone else at lunch, okay?"

He raised an eyebrow, but before he could form a question I had already begun to walk away. I glanced back and saw that he had already started off in the opposite direction. I made my way towards then nearest bathroom, which, thankfully, was empty.

Don't ask why I chose the bathroom. It was just a place to get away from everyone else, while they stuffed their face and worried about trivial things like who is going to win the next football game or how their hair looks.

I turned on the sink a moment and splashed my face with cold water a few times; partly to wake myself up. _You can do this, after all maybe it will give you a clue to who is doing this._

Suddenly someone grabbed the envelope and I whirled around only to come face to face with a short girl, curly blond locks framing her angelic face. "What's this?" She asked innocently, her eyes gleaming mischievously. "A love letter?"

Heat flushed my cheeks and I tried to snatch the letter away from her. She nimbly jumped back a safe distance and raised an eyebrow at me. "Angel..." I warned. She was probably one of the last people I wanted to deal with at the moment.

"You've been acting strange, from what I've heard." She said, sliding her thumb under the envelope's flap, slowly opening it. "Does it have to do with this?"

I lunged at her, but she easily side-stepped, and I collided painfully with the stall door. I rubbed my head and turned around, ready to shook daggers. However, there were bigger problems now. Angel had already begun to read the note inside, her eyes fitting over the page and pictures attached to it before they widened.

She looked as if she might faint, scream and be sick at the same time. Fortunately she chose the scream option, and I swiftly wrapped my hand around her mouth. It came out as nothing more than a muffled squeak.

"Don't scream," I ordered, snatching the note from her. "I'll tell you what I can, but you have to swear you won't mention it to another soul. Got it?"

Angel nodded dumbly and I let go. She promptly ran to the nearest trash can and decided it was the proper time to get rid of her breakfast. I looked away, one hand over my mouth as if I was going to be sick too.

"Just- just what is that!" She finally spluttered, after a few moments of recovery.

Running a hand through my hair, I leaned against the nearest sink. "There is really no easy way to say this but... I'm being stalked." And uncomfortable silence ensued, and just as Angel opened her mouth to whisper a hoarse reply, I added, "By a serial killer."

A series of emotions flashed a cross her face as she tried to formulate the best answer to what I had just told her. "Does Iggy know? And what about Nudge or Gazzy?"

I shook my head. "Nudge doesn't know, nor Gazzy. But Iggy does. He briefly glimpsed the guy, but from a distance. You weren't supposed to know either." I fixed her with a pointed stare that she ignored.

"Are the police involved?"

"...No."

"Max!" Angel cried. "That man is a sociopath! He'll kill you for sure, and you didn't even think to call in official help and protection?"

I snorted, though inside I was thinking the same thing. To be honest, I felt like curling up in a windowless room until the man was apprehended. But instead I was testing him, without even meaning to. "I can do this by myself." I retorted.

"Don't be stubborn." Angel said angrily in the way she always did whenever I was so set in my ways. Ways that she knew was wrong and was trying to steer me clear of. Of course, I never liked being told what to do, so she had a hard time stopping me. "This isn't something you can solve by yourself."

I sighed and stood, ready to leave, when Angel's lithe arms wrapped around me. It was as if I was transported back to when Angel was younger, and would cling to me whenever Nudge, Iggy, Gazzy and I would watch a movie she deemed 'too scary'.

"I know you don't like accepting help." She whispered, a tone of desperation creeping into her voice. "But this is beyond your control. I don't want the last time I ever see you to be at your funeral."

I hunger my head, slowly disentangling her arms. The quiet was suffocating, as if a million different thoughts and problems were pressing against me, and cramming their fingers down my throat, as if to get my attention.

Finally, I relented slightly. "Fine." I said. I could pretty much feel Angel brighten. "If I get in over my head, I'll call the police. Deal?"

"Deal. Now if you'll excuse me I think I'm going to be sick again." Angel ran past me and back to the can. I slowly made my way over, holding her hair up. I decided I'd wait till I was at home before I'd look at the note and pictures.

After all, I didn't want to spoil what little appetite I had left.

**X X X**

**Author's Notes: **... I'm so sorry for not updating in so long. I feel bad for not getting this up earlier, and for not even having an excuse. So a big apology to everyone who was waiting for this chapter. But enough of that. Hopefully this is sufficient enough. And, because it always slips my mind, I'm going to answer some of the questions that've been asked.

_Whocares1313: _

1.) Yes, the man will be described fairly soon, actually.

2.) People are still speculating on who it is, so I'll let them guess up until the stalker's identity is revealed.

3.) Nope. I will definitely describe him, and then all shall be revealed.

4.) Fang most certainly does.

5.) Sadly, no. (I am a Fax supporter, but I have nothing against Miggy)

6.) All of the Flock members (except Dylan) are in here, along with Dr. Martinez. Max and Fang play the biggest roles, with the other Flock members guiding the story along up until a certain point.

_Wingz-and-a-Fez: _(I love your pen name by the way.) Soon, hopefully, depending on how long future chapters are. The more she comes in contact with the stalker, the more violence and gore will come her way. Max will eventually witness some firsthand.

Hopefully that answer your questions. Fell free to ask more, if anything else is nagging you. And just in case you are wondering, Max and Iggy are both Seniors, Nudge is a Junior, Gazzy is a Sophomore and Angel is a Freshmen (although she skipped a grade so she would technically be an 8th Grader).


	5. Chapter 5

When I told Angel I'd call for help if I got in over my head, I was lying. I was already in some pretty deep shit. Of course, I couldn't just tell her that. Then she would gloat about being right and hold it over my head. At least I would be alive, though.

I shook my head slightly and sighed, causing Angel to turn her head and look at me, one eyebrow raised. My mom didn't care much about who stayed overnight, or how many people there were, so long as we didn't make a lot of noise, or cause trouble.

She didn't care when the gang had migrated into my house and decided to sleep there. They were all within walking distance, but apparently even that was too much of a challenge to accomplish. The freezing temperature and snow didn't help either.

"Stop sighing so much." Angel complained, shifting slightly as she tried to make herself comfortable.

I gave a small grunt. "Maybe you should actually use a pillow." I replied. Somehow the two of us had managed to get scammed out of a comfy place on the couch or chairs, and had to make due with the floor.

Angel had decided to use my stomach as a pillow, and I could barely breath without it disturbing her. I rolled my eyes as she gave a small _hmph _reached for the remote a little bit away. As I made a move to change the channel, Angel grabbed my wrist.

"What now?" I said with a scowl, though she couldn't see.

Angel glanced around the room. Gazzy had crashed out around midnight, which was surprising, and lay curled up on one of the chairs. Nudge had commandeered the couch, and was sprawled out across it, mumbling incoherently.

The only other person awake was Iggy, occupying the other chair. He was focused on his iPod, his foot tracing lazy circles in the air. I immediately knew what she was going to say and quickly stood up.

"I'll be back." I said, and swiftly left the room, leaving a slightly miffed Angel and an oblivious Iggy behind. When I was safely out of sight and hearing range, I collapsed on the ground and groaned in frustration.

Ever since I had told her, Angel had been pestering me relentlessly to go to the Police. It seemed as if that was all she ever talked about, and it was all I could do to make sure she didn't go blurting it out to everyone in school.

I was contemplating whether or not I should just go to the basement and crash there when I heard Angel give a muffled shriek. I shot up and ran back to the living room, skidding to a halt. I glanced around wildly, expecting the worst.

Instead I found Iggy and Angel crouched behind the side of the couch, with Angel looking terrified. I made my way over to them, all the while glancing around. "What?" I asked. "What is it?" Angel grabbed my arm and dragged me down.

"Shhhhh," She whispered and I frowned.

"The man," Iggy supplied, rubbing Angel's back softly. "He's back."

I should have been scared, fearful for my life. That would have been the appropriate and sane response. But I was angry, burning up with rage at the thought of him coming into my house, scaring Angel and for sending me the stupid letters.

"That's it!" I growled, standing up. "If he thinks for one goddamn second that he can creep around my property then he has ano-"

This time it was Iggy who yanked me down, causing my knees to make a painful reunion with the floor. "Are you insane?" He said, glaring at me. "That man is a serial killer! If you walk out of this house to meet him he will kill you."

As my anger faded, I realized how stupid that move was. Even though I didn't come face to face with him, I just alerted him that I was in fact in the house. I hung my head and couldn't help but feel ashamed as Iggy continued.

"Do you think he's going to just let you go and say 'Oh, stalking creeps you out? I'm sorry, my bad, my bad. I'll be on my way'?"

"I get it alright!" I snapped.

"Max," Angel piped up. "This isn't something you can deal with on your own. And certainly not when the man has the upper hand."

"Fine, fine," I grumbled, peering out ever so slightly from the couch. I expected the man to be fogging up the window, but I couldn't see him. Angel and Iggy weren't paying attention to me, or the window, so I took my chance to escape.

Well, not really escape, but rather army crawl out of the supposed safety of the couch and towards the door. I was surprised at how silent I was and glanced behind me. Angel and Iggy were talking, engrossed in their discussion. Angel gestured to where I had been moments before.

I was about to stand up when they finally noticed me. "Get back here!" Angel hissed, motioning frantically.

I inched closer to the door. And closer. Then I realized how dumb this was and stood up, quickly slipping on the nearest pair of shoes and throwing open the door. Angel yelled after me, but her words were lost over the wind that washed over me.

I shivered instantly, but at least I had clothing on then the last time Winter and I had met. The man was at the end of my driveway, his hands jammed in his pockets, walking away with a nonchalant attitude, like this was completely normal.

"Hey!" I growled, struggling through the heaps of snow and out towards him without even thinking this through. Looking back it was probably the worst decision I had made, one that sealed my fate.

The man stopped, but didn't turn. His shoulders twitched a bit, as if he was chuckling to himself. Maybe he was. "You aren't very bright are you?" He said, his voice low and tinged with amusement.

I clenched my fists, seething with rage at the comment. "You aren't very secretive, are you?" I shot back, glaring at the back of his head. He said nothing, and I moved closer to him, ready to rip his head off. Then he turned around and my breath hitched.

"Secrecy is the least of my worries," He said, sizing me up. His eyes and mouth were the only thing visible from behind his black mask, but from what I could tell he must have been at least college age, if not older. "And obviously it's not needed, if you think you can take me on face to face."

Something flashed in his hand and I knew what it was. The knife was fairly long, but not anything special. It was enough to slit my throat and gut me, that's for sure. I glared back at him, or rather, up at him, feeling oddly calm.

"Go ahead and kill me then," I challenged, striding toward him. The snow was only a few inches deep here and easy to travel through. Below it I could feel the ice, and made slow, deliberate steps to keep my self from face planting.

The man glanced behind me at the door, where Iggy and Angel no doubt were. Then he returned his gaze to me, his lips curling into the slightest smile that made me shiver without the cold. He took a step closer to me, his hand fingering the knife.

Involuntarily, I took a step back, my foot landing on slick patch of ice. I realized my mistake to late, and before I could help myself I was falling backwards, backpedaling in vain. I landed on the ground hard, my head smacking the frozen cement and causing stars to dance across my vision.

The world spun, then slowly resolved back into focus, with the exception of black on the edges of my vision. For a moment I was motionless, the breath knocked out of me. Then there was the unmistakable sound of footsteps on snow.

The man materialized in front of me, silent laughter glittering in his eyes. I suppose this was karma in a way. He offered his hand, and I glared suspiciously at it. From what I could see, there was nothing dangerous about. It was simply a gloved hand.

I glanced at his other hand and saw that the knife was still there, his index finger drumming lightly against the blade. "What the hell..." I muttered and took his offered hand. He hauled me up with ease, as if I was a feather.

I quickly moved to take a step back, but he yanked me closer and I collided with his chest. I was about to kick him where it counts when I felt something sharp pressed just below my heart. "Now, if I were you," the man began, his breath hot on my ear. "I'd be more careful. I'm not some stray cat, I'm a serial killer. Don't think I won't hurt you."

I know I should have been scared. Any rational person would have been. But if I said I was scared, that would have been the farthest thing from the truth. A small smile tugged at my lips, and I grabbed the knife, shoving down and way from me.

"And I'm not a damsel in distress," I said. "If you kill me I'm not going to beg for my life, so if you're looking for some perverse satisfaction from that, you've got another thing coming."

The man was silent, then he pushed me back roughly. I stumbled but didn't fall, and straightened myself. I was silent as he simply turned without another word and made his way down the driveway. It wasn't until he was the end that I called, "Since you already know my name, I would be rude not to introduce yourself."

The man stopped walking, and I briefly wondered if he would turn around when, or if, he answered. Instead, he simply placed his hands in his pockets, his shoulders rolling in a small shrug. "I suppose you could call me Fang," he replied.

**X X X**

**Author's Notes: **And the drama unfolds. Fang really is the stalker, and not the savior. He's not going to be as silent as he was in earlier books, but he's not going to be a chatterbox either. So hooray for semi-silent Fang.


	6. Chapter 6

No.

Nope.

Nada.

I sighed angrily and flipped the page, quickly scanning the rows of endless faces and meaningless words. 20 plus years worth of school yearbooks and records, and I was no closer to finding out who my stalker was than before.

I came to the end of the book and slammed it shut, shoving it off to the side where I collided with it's discarded brethren. I closed my eyes, placing my head in my hands. Obviously, this guy had never been to this school. Or any other around here.

"Found anything yet?"

I started, and whirled around, pushing back my chair and rising lightning quick. My hand connected painfully with the table as I did so. I swore loudly and clutched my injured hand to my chest. "Jesus Christ Iggy, give me a heart attack why don't you?"

"Hey, chill." He said, pulling out the chair next to me and taking a seat. He propped his feet up and leaned back. "Why are you in here, anyway Max? I thought books were poisonous to you."

I glared at him and sat back down, flexing my fingers and examining the red spot covering the tops of them. That was definitely going to bruise. "I can read you know." I said, grimacing slightly. "But, if you must know, I was seeing if I could find some kind of clue about 'Fang'."

Iggy look at me skeptically. He raised a single eyebrow in disbelief. "You honestly thought you could find something about him? You said you didn't even see his face, and you don't know his name. How could you tell who he is even if you saw him?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know? It was a start okay. I checked the records of every school I could find. And then I checked local newspapers, and even others from other States."

Iggy blinked, before he seemed to recover. I suppose that was something I liked about him. Few things could faze him, and he almost always kept a calm air about himself. He would only blow up when he needed to. "Did you find anything about him or relating to him?"

I looked at him for a long time. My hand throbbed with the beat of my heart. I inhaled sharply before speaking; "In the papers, no. Not a single clue. But I did some research online and... You know the pictures he sent me?"

Iggy nodded.

"I found out that the girl from the first picture was Natasha Fields. She disappeared a few years back. A hunter discovered her remains. They took her to autopsy and pursued an investigation on her, but found no leads, so the case went cold.

"With a little more searching I discovered that there is an ongoing investigation to find a local serial killer. 12 people, all high school to college aged girls, have gone missing. Four of their bodies have turned up. Some in pieces, others relatively together. All the bodies had excessive bruising and several bits of flesh that had been severed from various places on their bodies."

Iggy paled, if that was even possible, and visibly gulped. "This is bigger than we imagined. Max, this is bad. This is real bad."

"You think so?" I asked sarcastically.

Iggy leaned forward and grabbed my shoulders with and iron grip. "Max, I'm not joking. Before, I thought we could handle him. Small time killer, with like, one or two body count. But this? A well known serial killer? We have information on him. We can stop him."

I struggled, trying to worm my way out of his grip. For someone so skinny, he was freakishly strong. Where does he hide all the muscle? "I thought you were going to help me with this," I spat. "When did you turn traitor all of a sudden."

"When did you become so blind!" He practically shouted. Someone peered around a nearby bookshelf and angrily shushed us with a stern look. We both ignored her. "Why are you treating this like some kind of game? Does your life not even matter to you?"

A scathing remark burned on my tongue, but I held it in place and forced it back down. Instead, I looked away, unable to hold his gaze. Of course my life mattered. But I couldn't go to the police. I wasn't something I could have explained. I just... couldn't. "Just go Iggy."

"No." Iggy said stubbornly. "Max, I'm not done talking to you. Look at me." When I gave no response, he shook me, trying to retrieve my lost attention. "God dammit Max just look at me!"

"What?" I snarled, snapping my head around to face him. Like an alabaster sponge, he absorbed the hatred spewing from my eyes. With a defeated sigh, he let go of me and leaned back. He looked at me for a while, with a wounded gaze.

When he thought I had calmed down enough, he approached me again, gently this time. "I'm just trying to talk some sense into you. Please, listen."

Slowly, I shook my head, in no mood to fight. "Please, just go away. I need to think for a while."

Reluctantly, Iggy obliged and rose, pushing in his chair and walking calmly out. He needed to digest things to. Then, then my head was clearer, maybe we could work something out. Right now, however, I needed to get some fresh air and fast.

Clenching my jaw, and stood and grabbed my coat. Without bothering to buttoning it up, I pulled the gloves out of the inside pocket and slid them on, making my way to the door. Just beyond the glass, a blizzard was raging. It was a total white out, and I couldn't see a thing.

"Great," I muttered, stepping out. A blast of snow and freezing wind slapped my right in the face. The cold cut right through me. It was hard to decide if I was glad I had walked here or not.

Using my surprisingly good sense of direction, I began to short trek back to me house, trudging grumpily through mounds of snow that were up the my calf. Every once and a while, I would glance around, partly to make sure that there were no weirdos following me, and partly to make sure there were no cars about to slam into me.

I soon gave up though, and assume I was safe. Shivering, I pulled my coat tighter around myself, rubbing my arms in an effort to warm myself. I peered ahead and tried to gauge where I was at. I saw nothing. "Well, I must be near home now."

"It's a shame you won't reach it,"

My eyes widened at the familiar, deep voice resonating from behind me. I started to run, but I didn't get an inch before a strong, muscular arm wrapped around me, trapping my arms. A hand found my mouth and nose. I couldn't even cry for help. I struggled in vain. I couldn't get away, he was way too strong.

There was something in Fang's hand. A rag maybe, with something on it. Chloroform? My mind dulled, and my eyes slowly slipped closed, my consciousness slipping away into the raging white storm around me before I an answer could form.

"There were are. No need to struggle. Just go to sleep."

**X X X**

**Author's Notes:** Um, it's hear! Finally... Honestly, there is no excuse. Life was fine, I wasn't sick (except for an annoying cough, but that never stops anyone) so if you want to bitch slap me or something of the sort, then go ahead. Other than that, I don't have anything productive to say other than the fact that I don't like this chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

Groggy, disoriented, and freezing.

Believe it or not, I had woken up like that before. This time around, I was not sprawled across a friend's bed, or hidden under a mound of cushions, or curled up in a bathtub. I struggled to recall what had happened before, but my mind wasn't sharp enough. A thick veil of fog covered my memories, and the dark world around me seemed so surreal.

I blinked, trying to bring the blurred world into focus. Slowly, the tiny dull orbs put themselves back together, and I could see my surrounding through bleary eyes. Everything looked smeared around the edges, like someone had run their thumb over the finely drawn lines of a sketch.

Where am I?

This wasn't my house. It most certainly was not my bedroom, or living room. It definitely was not my basement, or the basement of anyone else I know. Off to my left, there was a large, shiny table, and it looked at if it had been taken from a hospital. I could make out an assortment of tools; knives, scalpels, plier-like things.

Above the table, strung up by hooks, were various body parts, like legs, hands, toes. I looked down at the floor. Stained red with dried up splatters. Whatever I was lying on, it had me suspended at about a 45 degree angle. In front of me, at the far end of this place, I could make out the shapes of people sitting oddly against the wall, legs out, arms raised high above them.

With some difficulty, I turned my head to the right. A few feet away, on a metallic table like something straight out of the morgue greeted me, drenched in crimson. Someone was on it and they weren't moving. Her face was contorted in frozen agony.

My eyes traveled down to her stomach, or lack thereof. Whoever this girl was, she had been sliced wide open so someone could peer at her insides, which, if I'm not mistaken, were all missing. I frowned at the body, my sleepy, cloud filled mind failing to register what was before me.

Suddenly, the veil lifted and everything fell into place. With a start I sat up. Or rather, tried to. The moment I attempted to lift up my arms, pain shot through my hands and wrists and I cried out. "Wha-?"

"So you're finally awake?"

I snapped my attention towards the voice, which appeared to be coming from the far end of the wall where the people sat. Someone shifted slightly, and there was the sound of clinking metal. It was still dark over there, but I could make out the gaunt shape of a girl around my age. "I wouldn't move to much if I were you," she said quietly. Her voice echoed eerily off the walls. "He nailed you to that board."

My eyes widened, and I strained to get a glimpse, but my hands were too high up and I could barely move my head. My heart threatened to tear free from my chest and ricochet off the walls. I've never hyperventilated before, but I was positive that if I didn't calm down somehow, I would start.

"How long?"

"Hmm?"

"How long have I been out?" I asked, trying to lead my thoughts away from my imminent gory demise.

"A day and a half, maybe two. It's hard to judge time down here, and I don't really trust my mind anyhow. Spend enough time down here, and see enough of the horror and hallucinations start-" The girl fell silent with an odd choking noise, and shrank back as best she could. I strained my ears, and heard it. A series of clicks and the soft creak of a door. Thumps followed; The unmistakable sound of footsteps descending stairs.

Oh, God, oh God.

And suddenly there he was, like a shadow given life, standing in front of the poor girl. All she could utter was a small squeak. Fang got down on one knee, leaning closer. Something glinted slightly in his right hand.

"Did you speak with her?" He asked, jerking a thumb in my direction.

The girl whimpered, and presumably shook her head. Fang's free hand shot out. It found purchase somewhere. Jaw maybe, or throat. "Did you speak with her?" He demanded. He was practically shouting. "Answer me!"

"N-n-no," the girl simpered, her voice barely audible. Sound carries well down here, I suppose. Fang was quiet a moment, like he was having a mental war. Then he shoved the girl away and rose. "Liar!"

He raised the object on his hand, and brought it down on the girl's head with a sickening crack. Again and again he smashed her head in, and every time it made a disgusting noise, a mixture of bones crunching and brains splattering.

I shut my eyes tight, feeling sick to my stomach, and tried to block it all out. Eventually, the noise stopped, and when I dared a peek at the nightmarish world I currently inhabited, I found Fang standing by the table to my left, with his back to me.

"You should feel proud of yourself." He said absently. I peered at him. He was cleaning the object, which, upon closer inspection was a bat. He stopped wiping a moment and inspected it, before continuing his work. "You probably spared her a a painful death."

"And smashing her head in isn't painful?" I hissed, trying to keep the quiver out of my voice.

"Compared to what could have happened, no." He reached up and flipped a switch, casting not so sweet relief across the part of the basement we occupied. He went on cleaning, and I stopped talking, unable to respond.

There were a million things I wanted to say: _What the hell is wrong with you? What do you plan to do with me? Where am I? _But when I opened my mouth, all that came out was "You play baseball?"

If I wasn't mistaken, there was a hint of a smile in his voice. But then again, I was probably delirious. "All throughout high school. Star hitter." He set down the weapon, satisfied with its state, and turned around, crossing his arms over his chest.

He wasn't wearing a mask.

For some reason, I had expected a scarred, mutilated old face, with eyes full of hate. Fortunately, or unfortunately, that was not what I received. His dark, almost black eyes were shrouded by thick, messy black hair that fell just below his ears. His skin was slightly tanned, and looked flawless.

This was my captor? The heartless killer? He looked like he should be in college. I stared at him for a while, memorizing every detail. He looked familiar, but I couldn't pinpoint where I had seen him before. Maybe I was just imagining.

"You're very odd, you know that? All the other girls I've captured have screamed and cried and begged, yet here you are asking about my sports activities."

I wanted to yell at him. Rip out the nails, and tear apart the restraints on my stomach and legs and- What exactly? Hit him? Run away? Kill him? My mind wanted a millions things all at once, creating a hurricane inside my skull. But my body wouldn't obey. What was wrong with me?

"Well I'm sorry if I don't have any experience with situations like these." I replied sarcastically.

Fang regarded me solemnly, though I could have sworn I could see anger burning in his eyes. Before I could register any emotion, it was gone. "I would kill anyone who laid a hand on you."

I couldn't help myself. I laughed. "So now you're the knight in shining armor? Well news flash for you, you've done more damage than anyone I have ever encountered! So maybe you should go ahead and kill yourself, if you want to follow through with that plan."

I promptly closed my mouth, biting my tongue hard to prevent another word form leaking out. Damn my tongue. Damn it to hell and back. Fang's jaw tightened, but he didn't move. I thought he would hit me, or stab me, or mash my brains in and paint a colorful picture with my blood.

Without a reply, he turned around and walked right back up the stares, leaving his bat behind. The door clicked shut behind him, followed by the presumably many locks. I blinked, staring at the space he had been moments before. Then I forced myself to look at what had once been a girl sitting captive. Instantly I felt sick at the sight of her deformed head.

The few remaining girls were shaking and cowering. Now I would never be able to get answers. None of them would be brave enough to talk to me, and even if they were, I most certainly could not talk to them. Cause another gruesome death? No thank you.

It was only then that I realized I too was shaking from head to toe. An odd experience, when you are strapped to a board with your hands punctured by metal rods. I took a few deep breaths and tried to calm down, hoping against hope that I would make it out of here alive. Preferably with all my limbs still attached.

Oh, the joys of forced captivity.

** X X X**

**Author's Notes: **Quicker update this time. The day after I put Chapter 6 up I had a brilliant (okay maybe not so much) idea for the next chapter, and set to writing. I got maybe a page and then I was out. A day or so later, another spark, more writing, then nothing. And so that's pretty much how this thing was written. Off and on. In case anyone is curious. Anyways, the way I imagined it, Max would be scared, like any sane person would be, but no matter how terrified she was, she wouldn't really show it, even if she wanted to. And that is what I hope has come through in this chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

Solitary confinement is punishment for some of the most trouble some prisoners in jail. Some say it's a maddening experience, enough to make the weak-minded crazy. Or so I've heard. But believe me when I say this, spending even one measly hour nailed to a board in a darkened basement, surrounded by a bunch of beaten and bloodied girls, sobbing quietly and moaning pitifully, knowing that there is a cold blooded killer pacing above you...

I guarantee it's enough to break even the strongest of minds.

My arms had long since gone almost completely numb, save for the dull throb where the nails (screws, actually, according to Fang, because he had no nails. Irony's a real bitch.*) remained lodged, immovable and solid, in my hands and wrists.

Telling time was impossible down here, without any windows or natural light to guide me. Even my internal clock was screwed up. Fang never gave any sort of indication as to how much time had passed since he last visited.

Half of the time, he wouldn't even come for me. He would come down and chat briefly with one of the terrified girls chained to the wall. Sometimes he would get angry and starting beating on the helpless thing. Other times he would merely be checking to make sure they were still alive. Twice he took a girl upstairs without a word. Neither of them have come back.

Much more disturbingly, however, I found myself enjoying his presence, simply because being starved of human speech and faces had made me desperate enough to the point I actually wanted to ask him to stay a bit longer, talk to me some more.

Then I would look at the horrendous tools of torture lying behind him, and I would valiantly hold my tongue, looking the other way in some sort of pathetic defiance, like, _I don't need you. _I had no idea what he was up to, acting all friendly like that.

Maybe he was acting all friendly to make the moment he killed me all the more enjoyable seeing the unforgivable betrayal swimming in my eyes as he peeled me apart, layer by muscly layer until I was just another skeleton in his closet.

I shook my head as the door leading to the cellar opened, blinking rapidly. Had I dozed off, or was I just day dreaming? For a moment my vision shook and blurred, swirling around until I was able to focus again, at least for the most part.

The familiar footsteps depended the stairway, making their way towards me. The dim overhead light is switched on, illuminating the Hell I now called 'home'. Fang pulled up a chair and sat down, crossing his ankles.

In his hands was a steaming bowl of chicken soup, or at least what appeared to be chicken soup. I didn't trust him. The mere sight of it churned my stomach and I looked away, nauseous. I'd barely eaten anything since getting here, and it was probably starting to show.

Fang didn't comment on it though, and produced a spoon, slurping up the soup with a thoughtful expression. I decided to spring some questions on him, hoping he'd be in a good enough mood to answer some of them before he stopped talking completely, like he usually did.

"So, are you planning on keeping me here forever, because my hands are probably going to need amputation soon." I said, my voice rough from little use. Honestly it sounded as if I shoved a cheese grater down my throat.

Fang looked up, one eyebrow raised. A wave of remembrance washed over me, his resemblance once again striking a chord with a face I'd seen somewhere before. But the name eluded me, as usual, and before I could get anywhere, it had gone.

"I thought I explained this before."

"Maybe you have, but why don't you indulge me?"

Fang sighs and sets the bowl down on the table, the spoon clattering into place beside it. He stood, rubbing his face for a moment. "I'm keeping you here," he said, making his painfully slow way towards me.

The closer he got, the more saw how tired he looked, like he spent most of his nights battling demons instead of sleeping. I immediately banish the thought. He probably lays awake in bed planning disgusting ways of torture for us all.

"Until you are broken in." He finished, propping his elbows up on the board underneath him, folding his hands together and placing them under his chin. This close I could see the small stubble lining his chin, and the small whitish slash of a scar underneath his left eye.

"Broken in?" I asked carefully, eyes narrowing. What was he getting at now?

"I mean," he clarified, with a look that made him look downright demonic in the sickly light, "That I am keeping you here until I know you won't try anything funny when I release you. Like running away, or trying to kill me. Trust me, it never works." He smiled, but only slightly. It didn't come anywhere close to his oddly memorizing eyes.

It took a moment or two for his words to sink in. Immediately, _ulterior motive! _flashed bright red inside my skull. "So... you plan on releasing me?"

"Not out of the house, no. But I'm going to let you out of the basement, let you wander around the house a bit. You can even have a nice warm bed to sleep in. So long as you don't cause any problems."

Fang stopped, and looked at me, awaiting my answer. His face was emotionless now and impossible to read. Dark shadows danced across his features, drowning them in black. I wanted to turn away defiant and undeterred as ever, but my mouth had other plans. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought I was in the hands of a serial killer, not a caretaker."

Fang chuckled lightly at this, amused. I didn't have enough energy to even get mad at the fact that he finds me funny in such a situation. He stepped back, arms falling to his sides. "No need to be that like. It's simple hospitality. You didn't think I would keep you like that did you?"

"Consider you nailed me here and haven't moved me since, it's crossed my mind once or twice." I retorted with a slight sneer. God, what was wrong with me today? Just shooting out whatever came to mind. Which, in my case, was rarely anything good.

"Well, you needn't worry, Max." The way he said my name, in a chilling, foreshadowing way, like he was the author of a book who wrote a sucker punch end to a story, made me shiver involuntarily. "I have plans for you, and they will work much better if you are alive and mobile."

Fang offered me the bowl once more, but I shook my head, dazed. He shrugged and shut off the lights, navigating his way out of the basement with ease. The click of the door resonated in my ears, and it was a long time before the gears in my brain started grinding onward again.

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to still my rapidly beating heart. Plans? What plans could a killer possibly have for me? A mash up of every bloody horror film scene flashes through my mind, every innocent victim replaced by me. Every villain morphed into the face of my captor, cold, calculating eyes taking in my beautifully crafted death.

Plans... Plans of what, exactly? I glanced over ever so slowly at the glistening tools on the table to my left. Each once looked like something straight out a fiction, gruesome instrument too inhumane to even exist outside of the realms of language.

Whatever he had planned, I resolved not to give him any sort of sanctification in seeing me cry, or scream, or beg for mercy. He could reap that from any other girl down here, but I wasn't going to play his game. Not now, not ever.

At least, I hoped that anyway, since hope was all I had left.

**X X X**

**Author's Notes: *Get it? She's _screwed. _Yes, I know, that was terrible. Moving on. This chapter did not turn out how I wanted it at all. Dear God it is an utter abomination. I don't know, it just didn't work for me. Writing it didn't click, so to speak. It just turned out all wrong, and I sincerely apologize for it. (Also, if it switches from past to present tense, I'm sorry. I was writing another story that was in present tense while working on it.)****  
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	9. Chapter 9

Oh, God.

I knew him. I actually had previous ties to the psychotic demon holding me captive. The sudden revelation was like a slap to the face, and it made almost everything fall into place. My eyes snapped open and I almost shot up, until the stinging, searing pain in my hands reminded me that I couldn't.

I turned my head slightly and found Fang leaning coolly against the wall, eyes trained on me. I had no idea how long he had been there, and I honestly didn't care. There were more important things at hand then to wonder how long a weirdo like him had been watching me sleep.

I took a deep breath and swallowed, the "Invincible, Fearless Max" mask sliding into place. More or less without cracks anyways. "I recognize you now." I stated, with a hint of accusation tinting in my words.

"Do go on," he replied tonelessly.

I could feel a headache coming on. By now it was like we were old friends. Along with it I could feel sleep trying to drag me back down, lying in wait on the edges of my bleary eyes. What little sleep I did get only left me feeling worse than I did when I closed my eyes. It definitely didn't help my mental state.

I clenched my hand as best I could, the familiar pain shooting down my arms. I woke me up enough to gather my thoughts, and I said, "You used to live in the house next to me for a while. Your mom and my mom were pretty good friends. You were, um... Felix Mindleton." A muscle in Fang's cheek jumped at the mention of his real name.

I thought he would lash out at me, but he didn't. He remained as stoic as ever, so I continued. "I remember you had a crush on me. Everyone knew, actually, but you never really acted upon it. I was a total ass to you. Everyone was. You were- you were... off." I tried to word it as politely as I could.

"Just spill it. I don't care what you say."

"Fine. If that's what you want. You were creepy and disturbed. Everyone knew you killed animals. Not for sport, but because you enjoyed seeing them squirm. It wasn't right. That's why I insulted you. Because I didn't want you anywhere near me. You were dangerous. Even at that young of an age I knew you were dangerous. I guess I was right. So, now what?" I asked when I wrapped up the little trip down memory lane. "You exact your revenge and torture me?"

In all honesty, I expected him to do exactly that. My mind ran through dozens of different situations he could put me in. None of them were pretty. None of them involved a painless death, like maybe a bullet to the brain. I steeled myself for his response.

He sighed, and a slight frown appeared briefly on his face, before it was replaced by his usual emotionless mask. "No," he said simply. "This isn't about revenge, and I don't intend to torture you."

The relief I felt at his words was immense. I felt like crying, dancing, hell even hugging the man. Except I was nailed to a board. And well, you know. I was me, in a bad situation. And I didn't really do things like that. So instead, I asked as casually as I could manage, "Then what is this about?"

"It's about what you said before. About my crush on you. The simple fact of the matter is I never got over it. After all these years, I still couldn't forget about you. The beautiful, strong, mesmerizing girl who cut me to pieces and spit on me day in and day out. 'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but I'll remember those words forever'. You ever hear that phrase? Because it describes my feelings perfectly."

Fang had steadily been approaching me while he spoke in that frighteningly calm way of his, until he was looming over me, shadows strewn across his face. He looked downright demonic, somehow. My stomach sank at his words. Surely he was going to do something. I prepared myself for the worst.

Instead, I was rewarded with the last thing I expected. The feeling of the screws in my hands being ripped out. Which was by no means a picnic. The shock and pain of it all made me cry out, and before I could register it my hands were free and had fallen down to my sides.

I started to list forward, but Fang put a hand on my shoulder and held me in place. I could feel blood dripping from my hands, staining my pants, but all I could focus on was Fang's face, mere inches from mine.

I tried very hard to keep that twisted part of my mind (which I never really knew existed until this whole fiasco) from admiring how handsome he was, for a serial killer. "But the thing is, I forgive you." He said, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Huh?" I replied real intelligent-like.

He smiled ever so slightly, which only served to unnerve me more. "I forgive you Max, because I get where you were coming from. You're freaked out by all of this, and you were freaked out by what I did when I was younger. It's all within reason. A natural reaction. So I forgive you for everything you said."

"That's it? You're letting me go?"

Fang laughed lightly at that. "Oh no. Now that I finally have you, I don't plan on letting you go that easily. But since you are officially broken in, I'm letting you out of the basement."

I stared blankly at him for the longest time, letting it all sink in. It wasn't adding up. None of it was. It wasn't supposed to go like this. There was supposed to be a lot more screaming and a lot more guts everywhere... Right?

"So what's the catch?"

"There is no catch."

"That's bullshit. There's always a catch. So what's yours? You gonna stab my in the back when you get tired of me. Lure me into feeling safe and then strangle me while I sleep?"

Fang shook his head, amused at my reaction. It honestly made me want to hit him, acting to smug like that. Except that wouldn't end very well for me. So I refrained. "Like I said, there is no catch. Behave and you will not be harmed."

"Yet not five minutes ago I was nailed to a fucking board. You call that not being harmed? And didn't you say in your letter you didn't want to hurt me. Where is the man that wrote those letters? He doesn't seem to be standing next to me."

Fang barked out a laugh. A real, genuine laugh that echoed off the walls and nearly shattered my eardrums. "You actually took those letter seriously? I can't believe it." His laughter subsided eventually, and he took a few breaths to calm himself, rubbing his side a moment like it hurt from all the laughter. "Well, I hate to break it to you, Max, but those letters were mostly lies. I don't intend on hurting you, but I won't hesitate to do so if the need arises.

My heart stopped for a dangerous amount of time, before restarting on hyper drive. My worst fear had been confirmed. "Everything I thought I knew about you was a lie."

"Close, but not quite true. But that doesn't matter. Do as I say and behave, and everything will run smoothly and painlessly. Disobey and, well," he reached out and grabbed my hand, turning it over and admiring his handiwork.

Then he took out a small rag from his bag pocket and callously wiped away the blood. I'm not sure what was on the rag, but whatever it was, it burned like fire and it took all my might and a lot of pressure applied to my tongue to keep from screaming.

Fang dropped my hand and tossed the rag aside, leaning in close so his mouth was right next to my ear. "I swear to a God I don't believe in that I will make you wish were being burned alive for all eternity rather than facing what I would do to you if you disobeyed. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

He leaned back. "Good. You sure have broken nicely, Max."

**X X X**

**Author's Notes: **Oh the calamity! Or maybe not. Anyways, here we are with the ninth chapter. Hooray. Nothing much to really say about it, actually. Nope. Can't think of anything to add. I'm sure I should. There has to be something that needs to be said, but I cannot think of it. Oh well. Maybe it will come to me later.


	10. Chapter 10

Fang silently led me up the slightly creaky stairs. He must be pretty cocky if he'd turn his back on me, even for such a short amount of time. I would have attacked him, but my arms were still numb, and I could do little more with than swing them around like fleshy logs. My legs were weak and shaky, barely able to support their own weight. Besides, kicking him right then would have caused him to topple over on me.

After that, he would probably mount my head on a plaque.

I felt the eyes of every other girl down there on me as I ascended. What were they thinking right now? I bet they've seen a lot of other people go up here, and never return. Hell, I was probably one of them, one way or another. I doubt they thought I was going to get any special treatment. I even doubted it myself.

Their stares unnerved me.

Even with my back turned I knew how hollow and broken they were. The flash of relief that this time it wasn't them going up to Hell on Earth. I wanted to turn around and shout. Tell them to knock it off, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I would feel exactly as they did if I was in their position. I would watch the damned soul slink up to a fate worse than death.

I didn't feel any better once I was upstairs and he shut the door behind me with a soft, but final click, doing up all the locks once more. The ghosts of those girl's eyes still followed me. I still felt them on me, burning holes into my back. I shivered uncontrollably.

"You'll have to ignore 'em," Fang said as he finished with the last lock. "They watch everyone that comes and goes."

"Mostly the ones who go," I muttered. It took me a moment to realize I had said that out loud, instead of in my mind. Fang merely smirked a rather charming smirk. I shook my head. It wasn't charming. It was vile. Evil. Whatever you want to call it. Nothing about him was charming. This entire situation was messing with my Goddamn mind.

"A wise observation, Max. Now, let's get those wounds cleaned and some food in you."

Fang set off towards the cupboards. When we exited the basement we had ended up right on the edge of the kitchen. It was fairly small in size, if I compared it to mine, but had and oddly comforting feel. The image of Fang chopping up a person quickly shattered any comfort that emanated from the place.

The walls were a rich burgundy, the counters a light gray and flecked with white and black like most granite was. The cupboards were painted a blinding white. Not a single stain covered them. They looked as if they had been installed just yesterday.

The appliances seemed dated, and out of place, but I suppose he had other things to worry about. Getting a new fridge isn't very high on a serial killers To-Do list I'm sure. I noticed he lacked a table, and instead had a stool pulled up to the edge of the counter.

I didn't move a muscle. No part of me wanted to go in there. I didn't know what he would do. Turn around and gauge my eyes out as soon as I was close, maybe. He probably wanted to toy with me, make me know true pain before he killed me. Making me blind would prevent me from running before he could accomplish that.

Fang produced some gauze, band aids and that spray stuff that really stings. What is that called again? Antibiotics? Anyways, he set it on the counter and turned to me expectantly. "C'mon. I'm serious. Unless you want that to get infected."

"Why does it matter? I'm gonna end up dead anyway."

"You seem pretty sure about that."

"You haven't given me any reason to doubt it."

"Touche."

I stood, back against the door for support, my gaze locked on his. It felt like some stupid staring contest. It was laughable really. My mother always said I was as stubborn as a child. I didn't doubt her, especially now. God, I missed her, even on those occasions when she refused to bake cookies because I didn't pick up my socks.

Tears suddenly burned my eyes and I broke eyes contact, fixing my gaze on the floor and blinking them back before I had rivulets streaming down my cheeks. The floor groaned and I snapped my head up to see Fang walking towards me.

"Get away," I hissed. It didn't even occur to me that this tone of voice could easily be my death sentence. I'm sure if I was anyone but me he probably would have killed me. I guess his crush on me gave me a little saving grace, but not much. "I don't want your sympathy."

Fang continued walking, but his direction had changed. he was heading through the living room and towards the stairs leading to the second floor. "Whatever." He said as he passed. "I'm going to grab some clothes for you to change into. Clean your hands, eat some snacks. I don't care." And then he was gone.

For a while I didn't do anything, didn't really think anything. Then I slid down the door and to the floor, burying my face in my hands. And for the first time in years I broke down sobbing. They were slightly muffled, but Fang could most likely still here them from upstairs.

I missed my mom. I missed my home. I missed my friends. I even missed my ass of an English teacher who constantly harped on me when I didn't do my homework or bombed a test. I missed everything about my old life so much that it hurt and I was finally and truly scared.

Scared that I would die here, without any dignity, far from home and the ones I loved. That I'd be just another name Fang could add to his list of victims. That I'd just become a statistic. A faceless, lifeless statistic.

My tears didn't last very long. I didn't have much water left in me to shed. They soon dried up, and I took deep, shuddering breaths to try and reign my emotions back into the tight ball that had been in since this whole ordeal began.

I rose onto shaky legs, wiping my eyes on my sleeve. I knew my face was all red and splotchy, but I didn't care. Crying didn't make me feel any better. Instead, I felt empty and drained. A feeling of hopelessness and despair welled up inside. I felt even worse than before, as if I had already given up on life.

I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug crescents into my palms. I couldn't let myself fall into such depression. I couldn't give up. Not while I was still living, breathing, walking. Not now. Everyone was out there searching day and night for me, worried sick, sleep deprived. I couldn't give up on myself.

I took another deep breath, but when I let it out I seemed to deflate altogether. The little pep talk I had given dissolved into thin air. I wanted so badly to just give up and die. Fall asleep and never wake up, save myself from all this.

Something inside me wouldn't. That tiny voice in the back of my head. The me from before. They weren't ready to die just yet. They were still willing to fight on. And maybe, if I held on tight to them, I wouldn't be ready to give up just yet either.

**X X X**

******Author's Notes:** Fight on Max! Fight on!

Well, it's certainly been a while hasn't it. This chapter was a bit of a pain to type up. I had written another chapter, and then I had scrapped it, instead scrawlingout this piece of work, which I like much better than the original chapter (although the end is kind of cheesy). I was also distracted from finishing chapter 10 because I was writing up ideas and chapters for other fanfics that may or may not surface here on FF. However, it's here, fianlly, and that is what's important.


	11. Chapter 11

I woke with a start, heart hammering away inside my chest. Everything was dark. My eyes had yet to adjust to the pitch black of the room. All I could make out were slightly darker, lumpy shapes. I pushed myself up on shaking arms, which groaned in protest sending spikes of pain shooting along my nerves.

Was it all some horrible, twisted dream my my had conjured up after one too many horror films? No, no. My shoulders sagged under the devastating realization. The couch underneath me was far too firm and new. It didn't sag brokenly like mine did, having suffered nearly two decades of kids and teens and every manner of chaos that came with them.

The room slowly came into a grainy focus, further destroying any hope of it being a sick nightmare. This definitely was not my house, and it all was far too real to be a dream. I leaned back against the arm rest, ignoring my knotted muscles.

I rubbed my eyes with the backs of my fingers, but the lids remained heavy and at half-mast. I felt as if I hadn't slept in 20 years, and hadn't sat down in double that. What exactly had happened? I remembered bawling my eyes out while Fang had been upstairs. The memory brought a pang of emptiness. Any event after that was blank.

Had I been drugged, or simply fallen asleep?

I shook my head, which only resulted in a painful twist of contracted muscles in my neck. The grogginess that weighed me down was nothing like what I had felt when Fang first kidnapped me. There was no drugging involved. The question was, what had happened while I was out?

My hands went up to both sides of my face. My ears were still there. As I went to make sure I still had all my appendages and organs, Fang's voice, to my right, caused me to almost jump out of my skin. "I didn't do anything while you were asleep."

I glanced over. He was seated in a recliner pulled up to face the couch, but he didn't bother to lean back. Instead, he was hunched over, elbows resting on his thighs, hands clasped and covering the bottom of his face, as best as I could tell in this gloom. He looked like he had been thinking. Did he ever sleep?

"Any particular reason why I should believe you."

"If or when I ever do anything to you, I want you to be wide awake and see it. I want to see the pain and terror in your eyes. Hear you beg for me to stop," his tone was tired, worn, but I had the feeling a small smile had tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Reason enough?"

I remained silent, wrapping my head around this new, disturbing revelation. Fang paused for a moment, most likely contemplating whether or not chime in again. He didn't. Instead, he said something that caused the brief conversation to turn in another direction. "You've been officially declared missing."

His voice had dropped that hint of a smile. Now he sounded hollow. I'm sure he'd seen this unfold countless times before, delivered the news to frightened, quivering girls who had no hope of being found alive. It was practiced and rehearsed.

"They didn't declare that at first. You're 18, a legal adult. Authorities reasoned that you had run off, and that doesn't warrant a missing person search. Then a little blond girl stepped up a mentioned the letters. That set everyone on edge, because that means it links you to me. Now the entire city is in a panic. Here." Fang stretched his arm out and pressed his thumb against something in his hand. "See for yourself."

A T.V sprung to life in front of me, the sudden brightness blinding me. I looked away, blinking rapidly until my eyes adjusted. When I turned back to the screen, the local news channel was on. Lo and behold, there was Angel's face, golden locks disheveled and dark circles under her puffy eyes.

"-and I _knew _it wasn't a joke. I knew Max was in way over her head, but she made me swear not to tell anyone or get the police involved. She thought she could handle it by herself and now look at what's happened. This is my fault. I should have told someone!"

I watched the rest of her story unfold, my throat tightening. She was probably in the middle of a media firestorm, along with Iggy, because I had made them swear not to tell a single soul. Angel could probably get off easier. She was young. But Iggy? He was technically an adult. They'd say he should have known better.

The image of poor Angel was replaced by a reporter, who began to explain the situation. I tuned him out. I already knew what he was saying. I had been kidnapped by a serial killer who had been terrorizing the city, and they had no leads as to where I was, or who the killer may be. In summary, chances of finding me alive seemed bleak.

The next face to occupy the screen was no surprise. I knew it was coming, but it still brought tears to the edges of my eyes and a steady sting to my heart. "Turn it off." I said, my voice cracking slightly. I turned my back on the T.V.

I couldn't bear to see the distraught face of my mother. I didn't want to see how much pain my stubbornness and stupidity was causing her. The grief, anguish, maybe even guilt so plainly shown upon her face would be too much. Seeing how I had broken the strongest person I knew would be unbearable.

The sound and light were immediately terminated, leaving us in a deafening silence that Fang swiftly broke. "They've combed your entire house and confiscated the letters, which have been sent for forensic testing. They won't find any evidence, as usual. Police are combing areas where my previous victims have been found. The only thing they have found is the body of a girl who had been cruelly beaten with a bat."

My head snapped around at that. In the time that I had been out, Fang had dumped that poor girl's body. He wouldn't have done that if he didn't want the body to be found. But why? I tried to think through plausible reasons why he had purposefully left a piece of evidence for them to find. Then it hit me. "You bought yourself time."

"I knew you were a smart one. That's precisely what I did. I case you've forgotten, that girl looked an awful lot like you. Can you figure out what that means?"

"You used her to keep the police busy. Have them checking to see if it's me."

"Exactly. You've only just arrived. The fun has yet to begin Max, and I won't have the police interrupting anything."

I didn't want to know what his idea of _fun _was. I'm sure it involved duct tape and a plethora of torture tools. I banished the thought from my mind. That was not what I needed to focus on right now. That was not what I needed to be thinking about ever, if I wanted a shot at getting out of here. "They'll find you eventually."

"Oh, I plan on it, Max. Believe me." He rose from the chair, sticking his arms out and giving a luxurious stretch. I could hear his back crack multiple times from where I sat. He made his way over to me, his footfalls soft on the hardwood floor. "It merely depends on if they arrive before..."

My muscles tensed reflexively as he neared, alarms flaring in my head. I clenched my fists, feeling soft gauze against the tips of my fingers. So he had bandaged my hands while I was out. Whatever. it wasn't important. I craned my neck to look up at him as he loomed over me. "Arrive before what?" I found myself asking.

"Before one of us winds up dead."

**X X X**

**Author's Notes:** More than two months and five different versions of this chapter later and I finally update this story. It's safe to say I haven't abandoned it, I was merely distracted by the chaos that is life. Sorry to those of you who have been waiting for this update.


	12. Chapter 12

Dark eyes, impossibly deep and hollow, barely a spark to confirm there's a life behind them. They're focused on one point, unmoving, calculating, and cold. A small breakfast lay untouched and slowly cooling in front of me, eggs and hash browns that remind me, with a sharp pang, of the home so unwilling left behind.

"I don't know what you think you can gain from studying me," he said, reaching out and pushing the plate closer to me, "but it won't be anything worth while."

I stared at the food for a moment, breaking his penetrating gaze. I'd watched him make it. From what I could see, nothing remotely suspicious was used. Just looking at it, however, made my stomach churn. I knew I desperately needed to eat, but even the mere smell made me sick. I swallowed and looked back at him.

Fang heaved a sigh, running a hand through his hair, blacker than sin. "Right. Try to figure me out. You want answers, don't you?" He leaned back, crossing his arms. "Silent treatment now though. If you want answers, give me a reason to tell them to you."

"What am I supposed to say?" I replied icily. "That you owe me this much? Save your breath, I don't need to dissect you. You haven't changed much over the years anyways."

"Changed?" He gave a dark chuckle."After all you've seen you have the balls to say I haven't damn well _changed _since you last saw me?"

"There was always something wrong with you. I saw that, and I stayed as far away from you as I could. I was right too, seeing all the lives you've ruined. You're still the same sorry little kid from my past and you can't let me go."

Fang stood suddenly, slamming his hands against the table with the sound of a gunshot. I recoiled back to a safe distance. "Do you even know how hard I tried to forget about you? You spurned me back when it was nothing more than a schoolboy crush. It should have gone away. I should have forgotten about you, but I couldn't. Every god damned thought always revolved around you and I could never just-ugh!"

His eyes were suddenly alight, blazing fiercely. Sadness, rage, millions of emotions swirling about in a chaotic storm. His entire frame shook, hands twitching, looking for a way to release all this pent up anger. He clenched his hands into tight fists and trained his murderous gaze on me. I was frozen. "I did everything I could think of to get you out of my head. Sex, alcohol, you name it. The drinks were tasteless, and the girls just weren't you. And no matter how hard I tired, they ended up looking like _you._"

His voice were nothing more than a low, guttural growl. He had left the table was was moving towards me. I beat a hasty retreat. Something was very wrong. "Finally," Fang continued ,"I became fed up. So I did something that always made me feel better. I killed. And do you know what was running through my head when I did it? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. For once in a very long time everything was calm and quiet."

My back was almost against the wall and he was far too close. He closed the distance in record time, slamming me against the wall with the force of a freight train. Calloused hands were around my neck before I could blink. Squeezing, crushing my windpipe and constricting my airways. Stars soon formed on the edge of my vision, a hodgepodge of ugly constellations.

"I understand now that as long as you breath, I'll never have any peace. I love you, Max, but you're better off dead, or I'll be driven right out of my head."

All I managed was a strangled sound, pitifully clawing at his hands in vain. Darkness was creeping up on me. I was going to be out soon. I closed my eyes, and suddenly all the pressure on my throat was gone. I collapsed, gasping and spluttering, rubbing my neck as if that would help. I was shaking like never before when I dared to look up.

Fang has retreated, staring down at his hands with an unreadable expression. All the anger that had been bubbling over before was gone, replaced with a sense of defeat and hopelessness. "You're wrong." His voice has lost its gravel like tone, replaced instead with a softness I hadn't heard. "Everything has changed and I can't get it back."

He fell into the nearest chair, as if standing was too much to bear. I continued to desperately gulp down air. "Something was always wrong with me, yes, and now you saw the monster rear its ugly head. I thought I had suppressed it. I finished high school, went to college for a year. Then it all fell apart and now it's so fucked up."

"Whoever I was before, he's almost gone. Swallowed up by whatever it is that's wearing my skin. That thing wants your blood. With you dead I can finally rest. But a small part of me knows you don't deserve this. That you should have been left alone. That part has little control."

I looked at him, unsure of what was going on. This man switched moods faster than a NASCAR racer switched gears. He sounded genuine though, and if I wasn't mistaken his eyes were glistening with tears. It almost made me feel bad for him, but I steeled myself. He was a damn good actor, but I couldn't let myself fall for it.

"I guess I thought that, even though you were here with the monster I've become, you could make me better. A delusion that somehow you could still love me, and peace would find me that way, but God," he rubbed his face. "What's happened?"

Was this really the kind that used to live on my street? It's been so long, an eternity. Is this what had become of him, and was I truly the cause of all of this? A new feeling of dread sunk my stomach lower than ever. My hopes of getting out slipped farther from my grasp. Everything took on a darker look.

"Say something. Please."

What do you say? What could I possibly say? The man who had kidnapped me tried to strangle me, then he did a 180 and revealed a different side to him I'd never seen before. He looked like he was on the edge of a mental breakdown. I felt like I was on the edge of a breakdown.

I didn't know what to do. I had no plan. My mouth was dry, any possible retort sticking to the roof of my mouth and refusing to budge an inch. I couldn't process this. I simply didn't know how. How does one speak again?

"I got you tangled up in all of this. I wanted this for so long. Wanted you."

His words fell on deaf ears. I wasn't there anymore. I was safe inside my mind, which was fried and shutting down, funneling power to the essential functions. I breathed in deeply, trying to get a hold of myself. One small, fractured piece of me to keep me grounded.

"I'm so sorry Max." Fang whispered. "I need you, more than you know. I just- I can't let you leave."

**X X X**

**Author's** **Notes: **Whoa, it's been a year since I last updated. *Bdum tsst* Sorry, that was terrible, I know, but I couldn't resist it.

But look, the title makes a little sense now, doesn't it?


	13. Chapter 13

What was wrong with me?

I stared at the ceiling above me, tracing incomprehensible patterns on the bumpy surface. Beneath me, the couch was soft and warm, inviting. Almost enough to lull me to sleep. But I was terrified of sleeping. Terrified of what could happen the moment my eyes drift shut. Terrified of missing an opportunity to escape this place. Terrified of the war that had been raging in my head and being unable to stop it.

Since recovering from my near breakdown, and having reigned in my thoughts, everything had gone to hell, at least mentally.

It was subtle, like a table shifted a few centimeters to the left, but I noticed it. And the more I dwelt on it, the more apparent it had become. Before, I had seen everything in strictly black and white. Fang and everything he had done was black, black, black. The girls he had used and abused, myself included, were whiter than snow, though probably not as pure.

After he had shown the small portion of good he still had left, the line started to blur together and produced an ugly gray. Now, I wasn't so sure what the man was. Sometimes, he was purely Fang: cold, distant, constantly watching me, memorizing me. Other times, he appeared to be Felix: small, scared, a little boy lost and alone in a dark world.

Nothing had changed, at least not his facial expression, nor his posture. Only his eyes held the true change. Gateways to the soul and all that shit. But Fang had no soul, certainly not if he could commit all those atrocious acts to innocent young girls... Right?

Maybe I was going crazy (the possibility was very, very real). You have to be out of your mind to start to sympathize with a killer. Yet, I wasn't sympathizing with a killer. I was sympathizing with the long forgotten child locked away inside of him. The small vestige of humanity he possessed, if that even truly existed.

"Ah, fuck!" I hissed, jamming the heels of my palms into my eyes, rubbing away nothing in particular. Insanity, perhaps. "Keep it together, Max."

Easier said than done, when the man you were supposed to hate had tainted your view of him. It had to be a trick. Fang could catch me off guard if he could convince me to let my walls down. It was in my nature to help to downtrodden underdogs, and if he could make me believe that he was one of them... I didn't want to think about it.

I removed one hand and glanced at the man in question.

Yes, that had to be it. A game he expected to win. He'd play me like he played the others. So why wasn't I convinced?

God, there really was something screwed up with me.

I could make out almost every one of his features, illuminated now in the pale moonlight filtering through the windows. His face was scrunched tightly together. He almost looked tormented. I wondered what went on in his mind. Did he relive his murders with regret or satisfaction? I bit my tongue. Hard. Enough of those thoughts. I turned my attention to one feature in particular. His eyes were closed.

Was he sleeping?

I sat up slowly, careful not to let the couch frame creak underneath me. My feet touched the cool floor. A shiver ran down my spine, raising goosebumps along my skin. I stood with deliberate care, monitoring Fang's face for any sign of awareness. None. For once, he appeared to actually be sleeping.

My knees nearly gave out in relief. A chance. One small, dim ray of hope glimmering through a foggy gloom. I had a fighting chance, and I knew exactly what I had to do.

I crept across the floor, mindful to stay as far away from Fang as possible. Progress was agonizingly slow, as I didn't want any of the boards to squeak underfoot. The man was no doubt a light sleeper. The whole time, my heart was hammering away, a thousand miles a minute. Surely it was loud enough to wake the dead, never mind the living.

When I reached the kitchen, I took a moment to survey it. I searched through my memories, recalling which drawer Fang had gotten silverware from and headed straight towards it. I pulled it out at a rate of what felt like a centimeter an hour and peered inside. Forks, spoons and butter knives. Damn.

Crossing my fingers, I opened the one next to it. Empty. Completely empty. _Okay, don't panic. _I scanned the counter, hoping against hope that Fang had place far too much trust in me. He had. Tucked away in a corner, next to the stove, was a knife block. The asshole still had knives in it to boot.

I pulled out the longest one I could find. It gleamed softly in the light, a little piece of heaven for what it was worth. Possibly a ticket out of this God forsaken nightmare.

Insurance in hand, I was no less careful coming back, though I lost the slouch, and stood ramrod straight. I came to stand behind him, knife gripped tight enough to snap the handle in two. My hand was shaking, and every nerve felt electrified, tingling like a lightning storm ready to be unleashed. I tried to steel myself. It had to be done. Besides, he wasn't human. Not really.

A swift jab to his neck was all it would take. He would bleed out, choking and coughing on his own blood. Certainly not a painless way to go, but compared to what he had done to others, this was a humane way for him to die. It was practically lethal injection.

"Do it."

I nearly dropped the knife. Though quiet by all means, his voice was like a gunshot in the silence. I wanted to plunge the knife right into his neck, but my muscles froze, hands locking up. _Dammit! Move, move, move. Kill him before he kills you!_

But he didn't move. Not to harm me anyway. He simply opened his eyes and leaned his head back, exposing his neck further for me and my beautiful knife. Something in his voice made me stop in my tracks, once the shock started to wear off and I seemed able to function. It was his in eyes and his voice. It was different, and a difference I was starting to know.

"End this."

This wasn't Fang speaking to me. No, this was Felix. I could tell by the pleading look in his eyes, the eagerness to finally be rid of everything that tormented him on deep level. To be killed, because he knew he could never do it himself, something else wouldn't allow it. This was a hurting child, desperately wanting to be rescued from the world he had created for himself.

"Please." He practically begged.

Fang never begged. Not to me or anyone for that matter.

"Max, you have to kill me."

I stared at him, eyes wide. This was not going as planned. _Pull yourself together_. This was a golden opportunity. No, that was a gross understatement. He was giving himself to me, no questions asked. A serial killer was begging me to kill him. _Take advantage of it before he switches back!_ I shook my head, stepping back and dropping my hand. The weapon clattered to the ground, the sound deafening to me. "I... can't."

The reality that set in after that statement was a slap in the face. I couldn't kill him, because I would be killing the wrong person.

Jesus Christ, everything was wrong with me.

"I'm sorry." The words slipped out, a product of frayed nerves and crashing adrenaline. Words better kept to myself, though they weren't lies. I quickly clamped my mouth shut.

Fang, or rather, Felix, rubbed his neck in a slow, deliberate manor, as if he could feel the wound that might have been. He leaned forward, taking in a deep breath before speaking. "You're going to be."

**X X X**

**Author's Note: **Aw, Max, if you're going to hold a knife up to a serial killer with the intent to kill, at least go through with the plan.

But on a different note, wow, thirteen chapters. Who'd have thought it would go on this long?


	14. Chapter 14

***Note: **3 months and 13 days since last update. I have indeed been counting.

**X X X**

The moment I sensed him begin to stand, I made a grab for the dropped weapon, but he was far faster than me. In an instant, his hands were on my shoulders, forcing me back until I slammed into the nearest wall with a grunt. I gripped his sides, nails digging in deep, but he didn't even flinch. I tried to push him off, but Fang was far stronger, his hold vice-like. For a few seconds, he simply stared at me, thinking. In those moments, I became aware of how intimate our position seemed, as if we were about to dance to a slow song.

The thought made my stomach flip. It was simply repulsion, right?

I brought my hands up, closing around his throat, but they didn't quite reach around his neck. They hovered, shaking slightly, but I applied no pressure. I knew that even if I tried to choke him, he could throw me off him before I'd finished him, and though I was one hell of a good fighter, it was a battle I would lose. Instinct told me to have it out with him, one last, manic fight for freedom. Rational told me to wait. Outsmart him, then take him down.

"You're a curious girl, you know that?" Fang said. "You had a chance to off me, yet you refused. Something about me stopped you." He laughed lightly. "You have to help that poor, bruised soul, don't you? Your morals won't let you end me when I'm vulnerable. And even now, with your hands around my throat, you can't do it, can you? You've fought stronger men than I and won, so why refrain now? You know that I wouldn't hesitate to kill you, don't you? That's why."

His words hit close to home, but still missed the target. I couldn't quite explain why, or maybe I really didn't want to, but I wasn't going to kill him or fight him right then. Maybe it was the fact that he seemed to be blurring the lines again, fusing Fang and Felix together so I could no longer tell them apart. He was both dangerous and fragile right now. A killer and a kid, and I was one twitch of the hand away from squeezing the life out of both. "You won't kill me. You can't."

"Is that so?"

"You'll stop yourself. You could have me within an inch of death, and right before you strike the last blow you'll break down and save me. You like to think you have it all together, but you don't. Not anymore, now that you actually have me. You're slowly losing control."

Fang moved his hands up to my neck and it was all so familiar, except that there wasn't hate burning in his eyes, there was confusion and fear, fighting for dominance and he didn't know what to do, how to properly react to his intended victim attacking his faults, the chinks in his armor. I was picking him apart and he had no idea how to react. I stood my ground, didn't flinch. "I'm in control."

"You're losing it."

"I'M IN CONTROL!" His hands twitched, pressure increasing around my throat but he stopped before he cut off my air. The look on his face was something I never would have dreamed I'd see on a serial killer. He looked defeated, the revelation washing over him like a tidal wave, yet he couldn't swim to the surface. Here we were, both of us milliseconds away from killing the other with our bare hands and neither was capable.

"Twice," I began. It felt as if I was talking to an old friend. We'd fought and screamed, sworn that we'd hated each other. Then the smoke cleared, the regret hit, and we desperately wanted to make up. It was all so surreal. In that moment I forgot everything that had happened, and it was only the two of us, ready to end everything, trying to hold on to something familiar, to ground ourselves. "Twice you've attempted to kill me. Both times you stopped."

"It's the same for you," he replied, voice far softer than I had heard before. His eyes were focused on my face, but he wasn't there. He was looking at something far beyond me, giving his gaze a haunting vacancy. "... Sometimes I wonder. I wonder, 'Does she love me that way I love her?'. But I know the answer. You could never love me the way I love you, because the way I love you is so fucked up."

His hands fled from my neck, sliding down my shoulder and over my arms until they were resting on top of my wrists, feather light, unsure of their purpose. "You're in everything. In my head, under my skin, coursing through my veins and you just won't stop. A broken radio tuned into a station that's no longer there It's like... if I can just end your life, it'll all stop. All your noise and static with stop and I'll be able to think and yet... I need you here. Somehow. I want you to be all mine. I want your heart on display in my room so no one can take it away from me. I could turn you into taxidermy now, keep you here forever. But it wouldn't be _you. _It would be me and my mind and I don't know what I'd do if your sound suddenly stopped."

"You're scared."

"Of you. Of what will happen when I kill you. Of what will happen when I don't." It was a small detail, nearly imperceptible, but there was a slight shake in his hands, his body. He licked his lips, glancing briefly at the floor before returning my stare. "I underestimated the effect you would have on me. In this moment, I want to rip you apart with my bare hands, yet, at the same time, I want to hold you close and never let you go. Max... what have you done to me?"

"I didn't do anything. You brought me here. You turned that radio up."

Fang - or Felix or whoever he was in this moment- was hesitant, almost uncharacteristically shy. His fingers closed around my wrist, but they were almost tender, as if he was, for once, afraid he would hurt me. He lowered my arms, withdrawing my grip from his throat and pushing them back down to my sides. He waited a single heartbeat, brow furrowed slightly, internally debating, before he drew me in, one arm wrapped around my shoulders, free hand resting on my head. I had no choice but the shuffle closer, face pressed against his collarbone. My whole body went rigid, tensed and ready for what ever he had planned. When nothing happened, I slowly began to relax.

"It was a station I used to listen to as a kid. Your station. It was harsh and cold and rejecting but I loved it far more than I should. And then one day it simply went away. Oh, but I still waited for it to come back. It never did. So the radio rotted and ruined and nearly fell to pieces. It was broken beyond repair and stuck on your static. You're here now, but little has changed. Static and noise, but sometimes, your voice breaks through. And it's warmer, somehow. And I think to myself, 'It isn't her, you're delusional.' But then it happens again, and again, and sometimes your voice is cold, like I remember it. I sit and think and try to remember what you say but all I hear is static again, because that's all you are anymore. Are you really even there anymore?"

I could feel it. The warmth radiating from his body, the way his voice rumbled through his chest, the slow, steady beat of his heart and I know. This was an opportunity to rescue that scared little kid locked away inside. A chance for me to bring freedom within my grasp, and maybe even save the man standing in front of me. I just needed to tread carefully. "I am here. In this moment, right now, with you and I'm not static. I'm words and flesh and so are you. And I'm sorry, for everything. For making fun of you, being a total asshole to you. I'm just as responsible for making you who you are."

"You're words are warm, and so are you. I think I hear you, though there is static all around." His voice was filled with awe, like a child discovering a brand new part of the world. He stepped back, put me at arms length and a smile threatened to break free and line his features. He almost looked happy, different, but that changed in an instant. The smile fell from his lips, his eyes darkened and he shoved me away, raising a hand to his head and winced. "No, I can't. I need to go. I need to _think._"

Fang rushed off towards the door and I foolishly latched onto his wrist, anything to keep him here. He rounded on me, a snarl plastered on, changed once more faster than one could blink, and now the monster was back. "Let go!"

"We had something!" I said, wanting to make him understand that we had touched upon something inside of him, awakened, if only for a moment, some semblance of humanity left inside and we had made progress. Something monumental had happened and he was walking away from it.

"Let go or I will FUCKIN' BREAK!" He screamed, wrenching his wrist free and stomping over to the door, slamming it shut behind him. I stood, watching the door, but I didn't go after him. I rubbed my face, sighing into my hands. Just when things seemed to finally be going in the right direction. I had something going. I knew it was possible to help him, bring out the good locked up inside. I had no idea where he was going, or how long he was going to be gone. What I did know, what that helping him wouldn't be enough to earn my freedom, or any of the other girls'.

I had to outsmart him, and he had just given me an opportunity to do so.

**X X X**

**Author's Notes:** If you were expecting a violent chapter, I hope I surprised you. I had actually intended it to be completely different, but it surprised me, and ended up like this.

But, God, I feel like such a slacker for not getting this thing up until now.


	15. Chapter 15

The house was silent around me as I stood, unmoving, straining my ears for any type of sound outside the house, around the door. Minutes crawled by as I waited, hoping that wherever he had gone, he wouldn't be returning soon. When it become evident that his break would keep him out of the house, at least for a little while, I went into action. I scanned the living room first, searching every table top, every surface, anything flat enough to lay something on. Coming up empty handed, I moved on, tearing the kitchen apart. I checked counter tops, even obscure places like cabinets and drawers. I grabbed stacks of kitchenware and hauled them out of cabinets, making sure nothing was hidden behind them.

I ran a hand through my hair. Nothing downstairs. Without wasting time, I scaled the steps to the upstairs and threw open every door I saw. A bathroom, nearly empty save for bare necessities. Nothing there. A spare room, coated with layers dust, devoid of even the simplest of items. It likely hadn't been used in years. I stopped at the last door in the hall. This had to be Fang's room. For a split second, I hesitated, unsure of what I would find in there. Then I shook my head and turned the doorknob. Nothing could be worse than what I had already seen.

I didn't bother to examine whatever horrors may be lurking in that room; my eyes had already locked on what I had been searching for. Tucked away in the corner of worn wooden desk, like a silvery beacon of hope, was a phone. I couldn't believe it. I snatched the phone from its stand, praying it was operational. It was. The screen lit up an obnoxious, florescent orange. My shoulders sagged in relief. I shut the door and leaned against, hoping it would buy me time in the event Fang attempted to break in and get me. I stared at the too-bright screen, squinting against its harshness. Who do I call? What do I say? There were so many people I wanted to talk to, so many voices I longed to hear again. My friends, my family, hell, I'd even be thankful to talk to Jeb!

It'd be logical to call 911, but I didn't want to talk to an Operator. I wanted a live detective, someone who was working my case. I needed to tell them what I knew. I couldn't give a location for the life of me, but I knew how to help them find it. I needed someone to relay the message, someone who understood. The choice was obvious. I dialed the number, one I knew by heart, and put the receiver against my ear. The dial tone assaulted my ear, a deafening blare, before it dulled down to a more acceptable range. I'd never been so anxious for anyone to pick up in my whole life. It rang once, twice, three times, five times, and then...

My mother's voice filled my ear, _Hello, you've reached the Ride household. I can't reach the phone right now, but leave a message and I'll call you back as soon as I can._

A beep. A beat. And then, my heart in my throat, I said, "Hey, mom. Don't beat yourself up because you weren't here to answer when you get this message. This has to be short," I inhaled, feeling tears start to burn my eyes. "But I love you. And I'm alright. I'm trying to sort out this mess, get back home. So hold on, and don't worry. I'll make it through."

Ending the message was the hardest thing I've ever done. My thumb felt like it was made of pure lead, and when it was over, I pressed the top of the phone against my forehead and tried to control the near silent sobs racking my body. Keep it together, Max. When did you become such a crybaby? It could have been a minute. It could have been an eternity, but I eventually forced my head up, determination renewed and dialed again. Another familiar voice came to life over the phone. _Yo, this is the Iggster, I'm probably blowing something up right now or in the process of doing so, so leave a message and I'll get back to you._

I smiled at the familiar voice-mail. He'd had it for as long as I can remember. I always scolded him for mentioning he was likely making a dangerous, deadly and illegal weapon in his room, but he'd always laugh it off and say he was just telling the truth. Which, unfortunately he was (how he gets hold of the materials and knowledge, I'll never know). If only he could craft a bomb and blow me out of this nightmare. I shook my head, didn't bother to leave him a message. "Dammit, Iggy. The one time I need you most you don't even answer the phone."

I was running out of options, and it was frustrating and slightly terrifying at the same time. The only people left to call in my pool of friends would have no idea what I was telling them. They were too young, and Iggy and I figured it better that they never knew what happened. But I had no choice. Some had to relay it to another who could understand, and then give that to investigators. When I made the call, Angel picked up after only two rings. Her voice was subdued, defeated. "...Hello?"

"Angel?"

I could practically see her face contort, a wild mix of sheer shock, disbelief, and blossoming hope. "Max? Oh my God, Max! Wha- where- how- are you okay? What's happening?"

"I'm..." I looked at my free hand, at the ragged hole that's just begun to scab over. The blood had long dried, the maroon flakes rubbed off, but it was still an ugly sight. The scars, both mental and physical, would remain forever. It throbbed occasionally, especially when I used my hands for extended periods of time, but they was getting better. I thought about what I'd seen since my capture. The terrorized girls huddled in the dank, dusty basement, a brutal murder at the hands of someone I used to know, a hair-pin trigger of a serial killer with a death wish. My jaw clenched. "I'm fine," I lied. She didn't need to know otherwise. No body did.

"Fine?" She hissed. I could tell she was near tears, and it broke my heart. "You're being held hostage by a serial killer! He-"

"I know, Angel, I know. You can chew me out when I get home."

Angel paused on the other end, trying to compose herself. She was crying now, her sobs loud and open, causing the phone to vibrate slightly against the side of my face. "You are c-coming home, r-right?"

_In a body bag, _I thought, before I could stop myself. I drew in a quick breath, clenching my fist so hard crimson droplets welled beneath my dirty fingernails. "Yeah. Of course I am. Now, I don't have much time, and I need you to listen very closely, okay?"

A sniff. "Okay."

"When this call is over, I need you to get my mother and Iggy together as quickly as you can, because they are the only ones who will understand. You tell them that the serial killer is Felix. Got it?"

"The serial killer is Felix. Wait," Angel paused, the gears turning in her head as she processed the full extent of the words. "You know the killer?!"

"It's... a long story I'd rather you didn't know. But, yeah. We knew him."

Angel was silent for the longest time, a million question no doubt filling her mouth. But she held her tongue. Angel was a smart kid, and she wanted to know everything, but she understood that I didn't want to talk about, and hardly had the time. I knew she would ask Iggy anyway. Whether or not he would say anything, I wasn't sure. I hoped he wouldn't. When the silence stretched on for too long, fearing she'd hung up, I said, "Angel?"

"I'm still here," she answered, her voice quieter than before. "Just... thinking. I miss you Max. We all do. I thought you were dead, Max! Everyone thought you were dead and you left us all alone because you were too stubborn to admit you were in over your head!"

I pinched the bridge of my nose, releasing a long sigh. "I know Angel, I-"

"No!" Angel hissed. She was furious, her voice rapidly rising. "You have no idea how we feel, how _I_ felt, thinking it was my fault you were dead because I was too stupid to tell someone. I believed you when you said you could handle this, even though deep down I knew it a lie. I trusted you, Max! And when you disappeared I cried myself to sleep every. single. night, agonizing over the thought that maybe I could have saved you! And now you call me, like some kind of ghost coming back to haunt me, telling me you have a plan, that you can save yourself, and you don't even _apologize_? Admit that you really fucked up?" I could imagine her, in her room, pacing about the place, her free hand swinging with every point, emphasizing her escalating emotions. I could see her, with her eyebrows drawn, eyes narrowed, face twisted into a haunting mix of rage and despair. "You're like a sister to me, Max. And I lost you. I can still lose you. Everyone can still lose you."

Guilt crashed over me like a tidal wave, dragging me deep below its icy surface, forcing all the air from my lungs. I felt like I was drowning. "I'm sorry, Angel. I fucked up, okay? I was stupid, I couldn't handle it, and I'm paying for it. I never wanted anyone else to pay for my mistakes, so please don't beat yourself up." Footsteps echoed down the hall, my name filtering through the door. I was out of time. "I love you, Angel. And I'll fix this."

I hung up the phone right as the first knock came. Fang's knuckles beat a soft rhythm against the wood, and I slowly stood, steeling my nerves. I'd done it, I'd taken one step ahead of him, put a wrench in his plans. i was that much closer to getting out. And I was damn proud. I opened the door, fully expecting retribution, to feel the brunt of his wrath, but he was calm. Serene even, as if he'd spent an hour meditating. "So, now they know, huh?"

"Know what?"

"Who I am. They'll go to the police, divulge the information. The police will start back checking, trying to track down my parents. When they do, they'll figure out my location, raid my house, take me down, and you'll be safely returned to your friends and family."

I eyed the man, trying to gauge his emotions. He seemed as if he had expected as much from me, almost as if he had planned the whole thing. Was what had just transpired a ruse, did he fake the entire thing? A thought tugged at my mind, begging to be evaluated. Was this whole thing part of his plan? No. He couldn't possibly have planned this, right? That breakthrough I'd had with him, it couldn't have been planned... I know he wanted to be caught, but that would be practically suicide.

The rustle of plastic pulled me from my thoughts as he pushed a bag into my chest. I eyed it warily, taking it from him, and looked inside. Clothes. I'd been on the phone, fighting for something, anything to get me out and save my life, and he'd been _shopping_? My face must have be contorted into all kinds of emotions, because he said, "You need to change, and my clothes don't fit you. Also, you desperately need to shower.

I looked up at him, incredulous. A serial killer, the man who'd caused this entire thing, was telling me that I smell? Because he'd locked me up?

"Don't tell me you you're going to deny such a creature comfort. Look, it locks from the inside, and there's no key. I'm not going creep on you, if that's what you're worried about."

I snorted. "Sure, 'cause you're just the picture of a gentleman."

His jaw tightened. "Take as long as you want. I'll be cooking up dinner." He turned on his heels and swept down the hall, leaving me standing in the doorway, a new bag of clothes in my hand. Part of me wanted to throw the bag on the ground and refuse, give a big middle finger to the man who kidnapped me. But I knew I couldn't resist a hot shower. After everything that happened, it would feel like heaven. So I made my way to the bathroom, flicking on the lights and shutting the door, double-checking that I locked it. I tossed the bag into a corner and turned on the water. While I waited for it to heat up, I stripped down, and for the first time was truly able to look at myself. The wear and tear was starting to show. The faint outline of my ribs were visible, and if I sucked in my stomach I could easily count them. My face held a gaunt look, cheeks slightly sunken. There were dark bags under my eyes, bruises smeared beneath the haunted brown of my eyes. I looked exactly like I felt: a girl, trapped in a house with a serial killer.

I stepped into the shower and I swear I almost melted. I never realized how much I missed something so simple. I watched the water swirl down the drain, sweat and dirt and blood and misery washed away in a matter of seconds. I braced my hands on the wall and closed my eyes, letting the hot water run down my back. The familiarity of it was comforting, and at the same time, strange. Hand I really been doing this exact same thing, merely days before, yet in my own home, on my way to school, not dinner with my captor? It didn't quite feel real. I couldn't connect with the life I'd lead before this hell. It seemed like a dream, and that scared me. I felt like I was forgetting everything. I tried to clear the fog that shrouded my mind. How bad is it when you have to repeat your life like a mantra inside your head just to assure yourself it happened.

I had to remind myself that I knew who I was, and I knew where I was from. I knew how I got here, and I knew whose fault it was. I knew who the killer was, and I knew why he wanted me.

That's where certainty ended and doubt began.

I thought back to the breakthrough, and his subsequent breakdown. There was... something inside him. A saner, better part hidden deep down that I'd touched upon. I knew better than to think I could change him. People like that didn't change, and even it if wasn't him, it didn't excuse his actions. What I did know, was that he could possibly be stopped. I could get him to calm down, think rationally. At least long enough until everyone was safely out of his destructive grasp. The thought of him in jail made my heart clench. They'd eat him alive. I shook my head, he didn't deserve sympathy, no matter what I thought of him.

But what did I think of him?

Beyond the disgust at his actions, distrust of his motives, and slight fear of his intentions, things got disturbingly muddled. My mind drifted to Stockholm Syndrome. I sure fit the bill all right. I simply never heard of such a case with a serial killer before, and certainly not one where attraction was involved. I tried to convince myself it was normal, my mind was just tasked beyond compare and desperately trying to catch up. Considering how irregular the entire situation was, it wasn't that hard.

By the time I stepped out of the shower, the water had long since gone cold, the tiny droplets freezing my skin. I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my body before bending over to grab the bag of clothes. I half expected him to have my jean size down to a science. He knew everything else about me anyway. But he didn't. They ranged from 2 sizes too small to 4 sizes too big. I picked the best fit, took a random shirt, some underwear (he'd obviously had no desire to go anywhere near the women's underwear section, because I ended up with boxers) and threw them on. He'd nabbed an oversized sweatshirt and I pulled that over my head, the thick fabric settling heavily over my shoulders. It felt like home, oddly safe. Like nothing could touch me if I stayed curled up beneath the soft material.

It took no small amount of will to finally step out of the bathroom and break the illusion. The stairs creaked beneath my feet as I descended. The T.V. was on in the living room, the voice of some news-reporter crackling softly through the speakers. I paid it no mind, I knew they were probably covering my story anyway, and continued to the kitchen. When I passed the doors to the deck, I stopped. It was snowing outside, the miniscule flakes floating softly to the blanketed ground below. It was an awfully normal sight, after all, it had snowed every winter I could remember, but something about this made the falling snow seem exceptionally beautiful.

"It's rather enchanting, isn't it?" Fang's voice sounded from the kitchen. I spared him a glance; he was still preparing the meal. "So quiet, you miss it if you don't look outside. Rain is so loud, you can never ignore it. It wants you to know it's there. But snow is so different, it doesn't care if you know, it isn't out for your approval or disapproval, it just is. I don't think anyone appreciates the complexity of each and every individual snowflake like they should. It's part of the reason why I moved all the way out here."

"For snow?"

"For silence. Everywhere else is so loud, even the suburbs. But out in the woods, there's nothing to distract me from the snow and its glorious silence. So I'll just sit outside and watch. It's calming. I've always wanted to be the snow, quiet and unassuming, no one to notice me unless they truly bother to look. Perfect and simple, gone in a flash. Easily melted by the simplest of warmth. But I've always been too loud."

"You'll be as quiet as the snow when you're dead." Once the words were out, I realized how harsh they sounded. I intended for them to be a simple statement, but when they left my lips, they sounded like a threat.

Fang simply laughed. "That's the point. We're all quiet when we're dead." He finished cooking the meal and moved to the table, dishing out a serving for him and me. He sat down, waiting expectantly for me to join him. I pulled out a chair and sat, scooting closer to the table. Just before I picked up a fork, he made eye contact with me, his face clear of any discernible emotion, and said, "And it's almost time for you to decide which one of us is going to be the quietest of them all."

**XXX**

**Author's Notes:** Holy fuck guys, I'm so sorry. I've been putting off working on this chapter, even when I had time. It was a mix of writer's block, but also a waning interest in the story. By no means does that mean I want to give up on this, I want to finish it. I'm just not sure where I want to take it anymore. I'm still trying to figure it out, and as a result, you may have noticed I dropped the 'Romance' tag, because I honestly don't know if I'll have this go in that direction. I needed to sit back and rethink, and I still do. I don't think I'll put this story on hiatus, but i wanted to get this chapter up as soon as possible. I don't know how quickly the next chapter will be up, but I'll do my best to make sure it isn't 6+ months until the next. And if you ever notice this does end up on hiatus, it simply means I've taken a huge step back to really think about where I want this to go and what I want it to be.

Thanks for sticking with this story you guys.


	16. Chapter 16

That night I dreamed I went home.

It was summer, the snow long since melted away. The sun was high in the cloudless sky, and heat radiated off pavement. It should have been sweltering, but the fact that I didn't feel a thing didn't register. I was in typical summerwear, baggy shorts and an oversized t-shirt, barefeet slapping the concrete as I walked. It was peaceful. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, not even the fact that there was no one on the street. Not a single jogger, dog-walker or child playing in the yard could be found. Even the streets and driveways were devoid of any cars. No one seemed to be home, except ghosts.

I arrived at my house and pulled open the door, stepping into the darkened place and flipping on the lights. "Mom?" I called, pausing by the door as I waited for a response. When none appeared, I shrugged and moved to the kitchen, expecting to find a note informing me of where she was off to. Finding none and assuming she was either working, or at the store, I stepped outside once more. No sense in staying in an empty home. But as I moved down the sidewalk in the direction of Iggy's house, something came to my attention. The farther I was from my house, the duller the world seemed to become, like life was slowly being leached out of it, giving it a softer, muted, monochrome-tinged tone. I looked back, saw my house and everything beyond in vibrant, saturated hues.

When I turned around, I was standing in the local cemetery.

The world was comprised of blacks and whites and grays now. Something was off, and it nagged at the back of my mind, but not enough to stop me. I noticed a rather large gathering of people a short ways away, here for a funeral, and made my way to them. As I got closer I noticed the throng of people was thick, and I had to push my way through. As I shouldered past, I noticed their faces were familiar. Neighbors, relatives, and a few people from school. I broke through the crowd, and nearly fell right into the grave. Steadying myself, I peered curiously over the edge, and my blood ran cold. Piled up on the bottom, dirty and mangled and writhing in agony, were girls who looked just like me, and I had to feeling I'd seen them all before. At the sight of me, they stretched their hands out, clawing at the air, at me. They called my name in feeble, broken cries.

I stumbled back, startled and whipped around. What was going on? I noticed in the front of the ring of people were those I held dear. Iggy, Nudge, Gazzy and Angel all huddled together, eyes haunted with sorrow and regret. Jeb was close by, his arms around my stepsister Ella as she cried into his chest, mourning a sister she had barely met. I locked eyes with my mother, who had a hand held firmly over her mouth as she silently cried, tears running in rivulets over her fingers. They were looking solemnly at me. Was this my funeral?

Two pairs of hands gripped my shoulders and I started, glancing around. Two men flanked me, meticulously dressed in black suits, faces steeled, not even sparing a look at me. They started to drag me back towards the open grave. I struggled, kicking out my legs, flailing about in their arms as I tried to free myself. I called out to my family and friends, to anyone really, but they simply stared, as if this whole process was inevitable, planned. Like they saw me, but I was already dead to them. The man's grips tightened like a vice around my biceps and before I knew it they tossed down my into the grave. The bony arms of the girls wrapped around my body, gripping my clothes tightly and holding me in place. Their skin was icy cold, their nails like knives against my skin. I struggled, but they only held on impossibly tighter.

Dirt slowly poured over me, in patches and trickles at first, pelting my body like dirty rain. I was being buried alive with these girls, I realized. I tried to cry out, but dirt rained thicker, filling my mouth, and I gagged on the taste. It was spilling in, faster and faster, all over my body, filling my eyes, clogging my nose, and suddenly I couldn't see the sun. The dirt packed tighter and tighter, crushing me beneath its weight, forcing the air from my lungs. I couldn't breath without inhaling it. I couldn't move.

I was buried with these girls.

**XXX**

I shot bolt upright, the taste of dust coating my tongue. I leaned over the side of the couch and coughed, convinced dirt would pour out of my mouth. I took deep, shaky breaths, trying to still my heart. My entire body felt eerily gritty, like I'd really been buried alive. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes as they slowly adjusted to the murk of the living room, devoid of any light except for early hour moonlight. I needed fresh air, and fast. The doors leading out to the porch were the quickest route, and when I pulled them open, the initial gust of wintery air was heaven against my feverish skin. I stepped out, my feet sinking into the fresh snow, but I didn't care.

Outside, snowflakes fell softly, glittering in the quiet moonlight that filtered through the trees. Though the air stung my lungs and burned its way down my throat with a vengeance, the sight was beautiful, and I hardly noticed. I understood then, why Fang wanted to be like this. Why anyone wanted to be like this, or why people liked winter so much. Why it was an endless inspiration for art and poetry and song. It was gorgeous, and all my problems seemed to melt into the background, light rabble inside my brain.

I could do it. Run away.

I had no idea where I was, or where I would go, but if I left now I would be hours away before he even noticed I was missing. He could track me, sure, but I could disguise my footprints. And if I didn't, the snow surely would. The likelihood of him finding me before I found some kind of civilization or safe haven was slim to none. Besides, worst case scenario, I clamber up a tree and wait it all out. Who'd look up there, anyway? I look out across the silver snowy expanse, then back at the house, worrying my lower lip. If I went now, I would surly receive frostbite. If I went back, I could possibly alert him.

Possible amputation of my feet or more, or possibly staying for God knows how long?

I debated, weighing my options, before deciding to risk getting a pair of shoes. I could hardly run away with dead limbs. So I stole back into the house, grabbing the first pair I saw, which happened to be ratty, hole-riddled snow boots, and slipped them on, hesitating before grabbing a blanket that was thrown over the couch and wrapping it tightly around me. Once outside, after closing the door, quiet as a mouse, I took off. I have never run longer or faster in my entire life. I'd certainly run hard before, I loved it. It calmed my nerves and cleared my head. But the burning in my throat and muscles back then was nothing compared to now. My entire body had been replaced by molten lava that was burning and circulating just beneath my skin.

I ran until I physically could not go on, crawled on frozen hands and knees until my body betrayed me and I collapsed. I gave into my exhaustion and curled up on the ground, drawing my legs up under the blanket and closed my eyes, chest heaving with exertion. I intended only to rest until my weary body could at least manage to shuffle across the ground. But I was betrayed. I slipped off into a fitful slumber, and awoke to blinding dawn light searing my eyelids, and the sound of someone trekking through the forest, bellowing my name. I sat up hurriedly, dazed and confused, wondering why I was asleep in a forest, until my senses returned.

I glanced swiftly around. The snow fall had picked up into a small storm, which had covered my track in shifting snow drifts. How had he found me? My first thought was irrational; tracking devices imbedded beneath my skin. But, no, of course not. That was ludicrous. I'd been so eager to escape I hadn't thought of a good plan, or even a sound route. I barreled straight ahead, not even bothering to zigzag or attempt to throw him off my scent. Of course he'd been able to track me. Like an idiot, I'd gone in a straight line.

I struggled to stand, making it only a few inches before my numbed body gave out and I fell on frozen hands and knees to the ground. Fang was still calling, and his voice was getting closer. In such meager snow fall, I couldn't even begin to hope it would mask my presence. I had to be sneaky and careful. There was no hope for running. My body wouldn't obey. I was numb to the bones, limbs hardly responding. But I dug deep, deep down into the last reserve of strength and I stood, blanket drooping until it slid from my body and I stumbled through the forest. I crashed into tree trunks, shoulders slamming painfully against scratchy bark, stopping only for a second each time to catch my breath. I imagined my friends and family, finally seeing them, and drew upon that thought for strength.

The voice receded until it seemed only a whisper, and then it was gone. But I kept on. When I finally managed to lift my head to look at the sky, the snow had lessened to light flakes, and the sun was beginning to set. I looked behind me, and, in the distance, almost out of sight, was the tree I'd taken refuge under. I'd hardly gone anywhere in nearly 12 hours, I was so numb and exhausted. And for all I knew, this forest could be immense. For the first time since leaving, I thought I would die out here, frozen and alone, only to be dug up in the spring.

_Keep going, keep going, keep going. _It was a chant inside my head, rising in pitch until it clawed at my skull. My mantra Don't give up, you wimp. I was the infamous Maxine (Maximum to friends and school) Ride. I wasn't going to let this stop me, even if I arrived a block of ice. People were waiting for me. I had to make it back.

So I trudged on, into the night, away from all the horror and pain and nightmare inducing sights that had been me reality.

"Not a step farther, Max."

I stopped dead in my tracks, and my blood would have turned to ice had I not been so numbed already. I turned slowly on my heels, steeling myself, and when I came face to face with Fang, I glared. He had a pistol pointed straight at me, but I wasn't afraid. I had the upper hand. I wasn't scared, not this time. The man had no power here, no matter what he thought. He could wave that gun around all he wanted. I was going home, no matter what.

"I'll give you credit, you went farther than I thought." He said, with a small smile. "Seems you aren't broken yet."

"You've underestimated my will to survive."

"So I have. Now, why don't you come back with me, I'll get you warmed up, and maybe forget this whole thing ever happened?"

"No," I said, voice laced with cold venom. Surprise swallowed his face before he quickly schooled it into a look of indifference. He never expected me to resist. "I'm leaving, and you can't stop me. I'm through with you and your game."

Fang glanced at the gun to bring my attention to it, as if I hadn't noticed the maniac practically jabbing it at me. "Take a step, and I won't hesitate."

I laughed a humorless, hollowed laugh. "You're not gonna shoot me." And I turned and walked away. A sound like thunder echoed off the silent trees, deafening, like it was nearly inside my ears, and then a sharp, quick sting. I looked down, mouth opened in breathless surprise, and stared at the red liquid welling up through the hole in my stomach. It spread across my clothing, eating up the fibers with a hungry red maw. I touched the wound lightly, a surreal feeling coming over me when my fingers came away wet with blood. My blood. I fell to my knees, more in shock than pain.

He had shot me straight through the gut.

I fell to the ground, curled inwards around the wound, tried to sputter out a response as I watched the snow turn crimson with my blood, steaming in the frost bitten air. Snow crunched around me as Fang made his way towards me, crouching down with a look of smug satisfaction at the sheer disbelief no doubt enshrined on my face. He was speaking, but his words were muffled, like I had cotton in my ears. I fell in and out of consciousness. For how long, I don't know. The few times I awoke, I think I remember being dragged across a white expanse. The sky was passing by over head in halting lengths. Then Fang cursed under his breath and stood over me, a frown etched across his face. I saw the butt of the pistol descending towards my temple, and then everything ceased.

**XXX**

**A/N:** It's here. And it's... cliffhangery? Again. But, oh snap, Max is shot. Oops.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: **Holy fucking shit guys. I cannot express how thankful I am to everyone who has stuck with me through all of my bullshit and terrible updates. It's really been a great experience, as this was my first (an likely my last) full length fanfiction. It's really taught me a lot about my strengths and weaknesses, and everyone who stuck around for this is truly the greatest. Everyone whoever reviewed or followed, waited patiently for an update, you are all wonderful, and I couldn't have asked for better. Now, here we are at the end. It's been a wild journey, and I never thought it would end up like this. That this story would even be mildly popular. But it has been a truly spectacular ride. Thank you.

**XXX**

Opening your eyes after a situation you never thought you'd awaken from is a euphoric yet altogether disconcerting feeling. The rush of relief is stopped just before it can flood your chest, leaving you with a feeling akin to your heart stopping cold.

The room came into slow, messy focus as I came to, eyelids weighing a ton as I tried to lift them, to pry them apart. I felt strangely disconnected from my body, weak and slow. For a moment, I wondered if, by some miracle, I'd been taken to the hospital, and would be greeted by nurses any moment. But, as I gradually became more aware of my surroundings, I knew that wasn't the case. My stomach sank. I was in Fang's bedroom, tucked neatly into his bed. I tried to sit up, lift my head, but my groggy body refused to obey. It was well and truly spent. Whatever vestige of energy had kept me going throughout my escape, it had all deserted me.

Instead, I opted to get a good look around the room while I awaited my fate.

The wall in front of me was covered in writings, pictures and letters, like a twisted version of a detective's web of evidence. The pictures were a hodgepodge of subjects. Chillingly, I noticed more than a few pictures of me, some clipped from newspapers, when I made the sport sections, others taken by himself. He truly had been keeping tabs on me then. Still other photographs held his victims, some alive, some dead, and the occasional picture of lush, majestic scenery, mountains and forest and gurgling streams were tacked up, spread haphazardly around. The letters seemed to be ones he had written to his victims, horribly scrawled out words, all of them lies to keep you on edge. Beyond that, in a chalky white, were incomprehensible words scribbled on any open space left on the wall. Whatever was written, it was likely asinine ravings straight from his head.

I clenched the blankets beneath my hands, knuckles turning white, skin stretched over the jutting bones. My last ditch effort had failed. I had pulled all of my hopes and dreams into one fleeting display of defiance and courage. Now, it was over. My gamble had thrown me right back into the meat grinder, and it seemed as if I was about to fall right into it. There was no way I could escape now. He was going to be watching me 24/7. And, even if he slipped up and another opportunity to run presented itself, I was bedridden, unfit for any kind of travel. I wasn't getting up anytime soon, if I was ever getting up again. The likelihood of me dying here, either by the gunshot wound, or Fang's hand, had risen astronomically. My fate was surely sealed. I could only await it's completion.

The door opened and Fang stepped through, empty handed, looking no worse for the wear despite the fact he'd shot his supposed love straight through without some much as flinching. "Ah, you're awake."

"Unfortunately."

He pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed, but made no reach for me. "It was touch and go, I thought you'd lost too much blood."

It took all my effort to turn my head the few necessary degrees to stare at him, empty-eyed and utterly gutted. "Am I supposed to thank you for saving my life, is that what you're after?"

Fang shook his head. "No. That stichwork is choppy, I was glad I just had fishing line lying around. It's enough to stop the bleeding, but that's it."

"What happened to all that 'I won't hurt you' bullshit, huh?"

Fang sighed and ran a hand through his hair, leaning back into the chair, so cavalier and comfortable while I was practically imploding. "I've been thinking about that a lot, and more I think, the less I care, now that we've reached this point. It's all been leading up to one grand finale for you and I. You had to have felt that much. But when you ran away, you forced my hand, and, unknowingly, forced your own. It's time to reap the consequences. We've only a few hours at most left now. I've been outplayed. Here," he got up and went to the table, retrieving the phone and another object before returning. He set the phone down beside my arm. "It's almost over now, it's time for you to put the final nail in the coffin. We will end this."

I looked down at the receiver, then back at him, jaw clenched, holding my breath. Holding that small flicker of hope sparking to life.

"You're going to call 911, and tell them everything. You will keep them on the line until they can get a general location of this house. Understand?" He placed the other object, the very same gun responsible for putting me here, next to my hand, lingering for a moment over the cold steel, hesitant, before he pulled away.

"Why the change in heart?"

"Because I'm ready to let you go. Forever. You won't ever love me, and whatever you may feel isn't real. It's some kind of Stockholm Syndrome. And... after what I've done, you're going to hate me. You will never forgive me."

My blood ran cold and heavy, heart breaking against the cage of my ribs. "What have you done?"

Fang looked away. At least he had the decency to look guilty. Or fake it.

"What have you done to me?" I repeated forcefully, voice hoarse and desperate.

"The bullet struck your spinal cord. I'm no doctor, but I'm near sure that you're paralyzed from around the waist down, at least." He answered clinically, perfectly detached and emotionless, like he was reading from the newspaper or a medical journal. He wasn't sorry he did it, wasn't remorseful in the slightest. It happened, and that was fine in his mind, completely justifiable. Just another thing to keep me here, under his thumb, where I could be quarantined and contained like he so desired. Because I could destroy everything. Because I already had. But the fallout was what he feared. Righteous retribution, inevitable now in light of his actions, laid bare for me to dissect and react. Fire. That was what he started, in this tinderbox of a room. The fucking bastard.

I let the words wash over me, the meaning slow to sink in, creeping up my neck like it were a vine. It was something to be applied to someone else's life, to some forlorn character of a movie. Paralyzed? No, that was something that couldn't happen to me. Was not a word I could comprehend in such context. That was surely something even Fang wouldn't do? Too reckless and devastating. But, as realization dawned on me, settling cold inside my bones, I knew it was true. Fang had done a great many things, and had he been thinking of such an outcome, he most certainly would have intentionally paralyzed me. All the better to keep me here where he desired, beaten and broken with no will to fight.

The revelation set my very marrow alight with anger. "You motherfucker!"

I seized the gun, cold steel pressed tightly against my palm and swung it to face him, rage flooding my weary body with energy borne of pure fury, the heat of it all flushing my skin. Fang, for his part, remained calm, only a small flinch indicating that he knew the danger he was currently in. Of course, he'd been prepared to die for many years now. I'm knew some part of him wanted to. He did not deserve to have lived as long as he had. I leveled him with a hateful stare over the barrel of the gun, willing my finger to squeeze the trigger and finally kill the bastard. Not as gratifying as tearing out his throat, but better than letting him walk. I could feel it, all the hatred, all the terror, all of the agony, every second I suffered, focused into the trigger finger. Just take him to the grave.

"You can't pull the trigger, can you?" Fang said, after a minute passed and nothing occurred, save for my hand shaking violently. "After everything, and you can't-"

Bang!

Fang recoiled sharply, hand jumping to his temple where the bullet grazed his head, tearing open skin and vein, singing flesh. A warning shot. He held a wide-eyed stare as he looked at me in disbelief, blood leaking through his fingers, running past his hand. My ears rang with the sound of the gunshot, deafening in the too small space, so my next words were almost a shout. "Shut up. Shut the fuck up." I'll play his game to the bitter end. I'll play it until it drives one of us straight through the ground. And if it's a nail he wants, I'll drive it right through his goddamn skull.

I grabbed the phone with my free hand, gun still trained on his head with more clarity than before, and dial. The response is immediate, refreshing. "9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

"I'd like to report a kidnapping."

"Who has been taken?"

"I have."

There's a near imperceptible pause. "Do you know where you are right now? Are you safe?"

I stared at Fang, looked right through his impossibly dark eyes, filled with pain, and asked him the location of his home. He paused, stared right back, two hollowed people locked in a duel, but I held my ground. My finger closed around the trigger, squeezed a little tighter, and he took the hint. I wouldn't miss twice. It was strangely liberating to have finally given him an injury that tore open flesh. He gave the coordinates, and I relayed them back to the operator, trying my best to keep my voice level. If the person on the other end was surprised that a hostage knew where she was being held captive they didn't show it in their next words. "Are you injured? Do you need an ambulance."

I looked at my hands, the healing wounds where they were pierced, ugly, puckered things that would forever remind me of what had transpired, were I to live past this day. I think of the bullet wound running clean through me, of my injured spine, the way my legs were now dead things forever attached to me. Once things I took pride in, legs that let me run like the wind. Swept away in the storm. I will never be the same again. Nothing in my life can ever be done without him tainting it, the acrid memory of him forever in my veins like poison. The psychological damage doesn't cross my mind. I don't want to think of the lasting effect in my head. "Yes."

"Alright, just stay on the phone with me, we have police and S.W.A.T converging on the location."

"Don't worry. I've got time." I set the phone down beside me. The words settle wrong inside my stomach. Time. Have I ever truly had something as precious as time? There had been no such thing here. Only the surety that one of us would die. Now, it was all coming to a head, unraveling at the very seams. Something was going to be cut, that one, final rip in the fabric that sent everything else crumbling to horrid pieces. Two people in this house. One would be taken. The other, buried. For all the confidence I felt, reassurance manifested in the form of a gun in my hand, there was no guarantee that I would live through this day. Through this hour.

"You've taken everything from me," I growled, voice scratched and cracked, on the verge of both crying and killing that man right now. "You threw away my entire fucking life. Do you even understand that?"

"Yes." The answer is soft as silk. Broken. Good.

I knew the operator could hear what was being said. That this was all being recorded, forever etched into the fabric history. But in that moment, it was only us. The predator and the prey. One would be devoured alive. One would be torn apart. In this deadly dance we had locked ourselves in, we were both trying to figure out who was the monster and who was the victim. Who would live. Who would die. "You ruined everything. You destroyed your own image. I will never love you. I could never love you. You deserve to be put down like the animal you are and I will spit on you grave."

"So do it. All this talk. All this bravado. Is it real? Or are you as much of a coward as I am?"

It should be so easy. Pull the trigger and blow it all away. Annihilate this hell once and for all, liberate the girls, myself. Begin the healing, let the rain wash it all away. All the sins and all the blood. All of this suspended torture. Yet it is all so much heavier than I ever imagined. How many times had I played the image of splitting apart his skull over and over inside my head. Splintering his head, stomping out his sorry life? But the weight of my next action hung in the air between us, both known and at the same time, a mystery. Firing this weapon was not as easy as it should have been. "Why?" I found myself asking, perhaps for the last time.

"Because I can. Does a monster need to explain why it destroys? I can, so I do. It is all so easy. I hate you, and I love you, and I don't know what to do about that. So I destroy you, and I cherish you. I cannot feel regret, not truly, and whatever part of me does gets swallowed whole eventually. You were the catalyst. Now, you are the bomb. So go ahead. Sweet destruction awaits." Fang paused, angled his head towards the window at the sound of tires on snow. "They are here now. Your time is up."

"No, I don't accept that answer. That is bullshit." I needed more time. I deserved to know. I had to know the truth. I cannot make this decision. Why must it all be on me? He should die. I should wipe his wretched existence off this planet for good. But that would be too easy. Too good for him. If I let him go, he would rot in prison for the rest of his life, no hope. No future. Not a single good thing left to him. "You will answer me. I demand the truth."

Fang rose, reached behind him and produced another gun, which he leveled at my head. All cool indifference and apathy, like the first time I met him. "No. It's too late now, Max. We've reached the conclusion. Now, it is time to decide. Who lives? Who dies?"

The rest happened in slow motion, as if it were a hazy dream I had little control over. The door burst open, and armored personnel swarmed like flies, all shouting and screaming, flashing guns held tight in their trained hands. Fang turned to them, gun raised, ready to kill once more. Then, the last string was severed and everything collapsed, a city devoured by it's own weight and diverging tectonic plates. Toppled. The trigger beneath my finger plunged, and Fang's head exploded in a shower of red and skull fragments. His body toppled into the desk and slid into an unceremonious heap on the floor. All of his reasons. All of his secrets. Wiped away like a smudge. I watched, chest tight, numbed to my very core. I didn't realize I was crying until EMTs had arrived, and I was loaded onto a stretcher. I reached out, back towards the room where all the pieces still lay, but my hand was pushed back down. The EMTs whispered reassurances to my face.

It was snowing outside, the flakes settling onto my cheeks, my eyelashes, like cold kisses. Despite the catastrophe outside, I heard nothing. All was silent, a blissful sort of silence, like a bubble that would soon be popped. I could not comprehend what had happened. I was finally out, free. It all ended in the blink of an eye, no maneuvering, just verbal warring. The inside of the ambulance blurred, the faces of the EMTs above me, mouths moving wordlessly as they placed a mask across my mouth. I tried to choke out a sentence, but my throat seized. The world fell in on itself, and my eyes closed.

When I opened my eyes, hospital walls stared back at me, the steady beat of my heart read off by the monitor. I turned my head, met the open, honest brown eyes of my mom, and then she was crying, head against my stomach, clutching at my nearest hand like it was a lifeline and she was dying. "Oh, Max." She repeated, over and over, a broken relief palpable in her voice. She sobbed apologies into my hospital gown, and I reached out, free hand brushing her head. It felt surreal to have her with me again. To be able to touch the soft strands of her hair. The familiar chocolate chip cookie smell that always lingered registering in my mind.

"It's alright," I said, for her benefit, and my own. "It's over." Though, that was a lie even I couldn't swallow. It would never truly be over.

The door to my room opened, and in stepped Iggy, Angel, Gazzy and Nudge. For a moment, they stood, stunned, before they converged on me, all hugging and crying, apologies, and praises, near incoherent amidst the cacophony of voices, all pressed into my skin. God, I missed them all. Seeing them brought an ache to my chest. I had done this. Done this to all of us. Dragged them all down with me, because I simply couldn't let it go. Had to prove myself, like I was something big and tough. Couldn't stand losing. I wanted to test the boundaries and laugh at the results when nothing came of it. Now, here we were, fundamentally changed, and no one was laughing, least of all me. This entire thing was my fault, and when Iggy attempted to apologize, I wouldn't hear it. I caused this, all of the irreversible damage done.

They all stayed for a while, but I hardly spoke. Could not bring myself to. I had to sort everything out, for my own sake. When some feelings returned, washing over me like tidal waves, the full extent of what had happened, what this meant, I broke down sobbing into the bed sheets. I threw the tray of food off my lap, screamed at the air. I ripped the I.V. out of my arm and attempted to get out of bed. Then I remembered why I was here in the first place. The fact that would ever be able to get out of bed on my own again. "Fuck!" I clutched at the sheets, white hot tears dripping from my nose. Nurses rushed into my room, alerted by the sounds of my rage, and one gently pushed me back against the bed while another reset my I.V. She set something other than essential fluids dripping in the bag, because after they left, I brought my hands up to my face to hide the ugly tears, before the drugs pulled me into a raged, crying sleep.

The next day, they brought a therapist to my room. He looked out of place in his crisp blue suit, so immaculate and put together, the supposed glue that would hold all of my fractured pieces into some coherent kind of picture. "I don't want to talk about it." I dismissed him brusquely, callously.

"That is completely okay. Talk about it when you are ready."

I don't. A month passed and I refused to talk to him, despite my mother's begging at numerous occasions. Soon I am discharged from the hospital. When I am lifted out of bed and set down in a wheelchair, it all becomes real, crashing down on me, bricks of steel, razor sharp. I found myself breathing shallow, shaky breaths. I really was paralyzed. Everything I took for granted before was shoved with clear focus into my face, just dropped in my lap. What was I supposed to do with them? What could I do? Nothing was as it had been. I didn't even recognize myself anymore, it was all so horribly disconnected. I had dislocated and severed myself, distanced me from my own self just to cope. And now I had to come face to face with the girl in the mirror, the girl with circles under her eyes, and brown irises so deep you could drown in them.

Fluorescent light poured over me in stripes as my mother wheeled me down the hall, get well balloons trailing behind, flowers held loosely in my arms. We were put in a discreet, nondescript car so as to avoid that press that was clamoring outside like rabid wolves. I knew my friends were waiting for me at home, as was Jeb and my half sister. I watched the flakes pass by the tinted window, irrelevant crystals blown around in a flurry no one would remember in a month or two. What I wouldn't give to be so free like that. I would forever drag behind me the remnants of what had been done to me. There were scars on my hands, my body, my soul. Blood that could not be washed away no matter how many scalding baths I took. The hospital staff made sure to keep me clean, but I still felt dirty. Could still smell that stench of rotting flesh, stale blood and desperation.

Fang got an easy way out. No mess. No pain. He did not have to deal with his actions. His head was as quiet as the snow outside. But I had no such luxury. I had to pick up the parts of my life and sand down the jagged edges to make sure they would not cut anyone I loved. My mind was full of static and cobwebs that needed to be cleaned and sorted and thoroughly scrubbed. Soon, we arrived home, and I was helped back into the wheel chair and pushed into the house, where everyone greeted me with relived faces and watery smiles. They hugged me, kissed my cheeks, laid hands upon my shoulders, but I could still feel that gun in my hand, the metal burning my skin. The scent of gunpowder and infection. Everyone here had the luxury of a clear and silent head.

Fang's head, smattered as it was over his walls and buried beneath unforgiving dirt, was as quiet as he had wanted it. As quiet as those delicate flecks of ice.

But now, mine wasn't.


End file.
